Lips as Red as Blood
by GalaxyofCastaborous
Summary: Skin as pale as Snow, Hair as black as night, Lips as red as Blood. A vampire Snow White in a richly imagined fantasy world, where we go deeper than is probably wise into why a good king would marry an evil witch, why on earth was the evil queen so obsessed with her own appearance, and why is no-one who knows the girl willing to help her? This is a tragedy, it is not a nice story.
1. A great Queen

**Authors Note:** _Hello all! This idea has been percolating in my mind for a while, and I needed to post some of it to convince myself that I would actually finish it. I hope you enjoy the idea as much as I am. I am planning on updating every day (except Sundays) until it's finished. I have the basic plot planned out, but very little of it written, so we will see what happens. Enjoy!_

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Once, when the world was still young and the land still green and mild, there was a great queen. She was wise and powerful and had many wonderful things. She had a wise and strong husband, who ruled the land fairly and was beloved by the people and a dozen sons, all of whom were strong, fair, and gallant.

Many thought that these were her greatest achievements, for that was how the worth of women was judged in these early days. You and I might disagree, and so I will tell you of her other achievements.

She was a talented musician and could play the psalter and flute so beautifully the angels themselves would come down to listen. She had nimble fingers, and her bright and layered embroidery was prized among all her friends. She was generous, and gave to those in need and stood for those who could not stand for themselves. She was intelligent and learned and would use her knowledge of the law to defend the unjustly accused, advise her husband most wisely, and cultivate deep and lasting friendships with other wise men and women.

She also had many wonderful things, she was a great patron of the arts, and had many talented musicians, painters, and dancers. She had many beautiful clothes, great castles, and rich food in abundance. She had servants to labor for her. She had an exotic and beautiful garden, full of the delicate roses she loved so well.

Many would call her, and her life, perfect. What could she possibly lack? Yet, there was something she did not have, that she yearned for with all her heart. She wished for a daughter.


	2. Such A Wish

Late one winter night the great queen went for a walk in her garden. The Moon was full and shone on the deep white snow that hid the skeletal branches of the plants along the walk. The night was dark and deep, and only the brightest stars were shining. Everything was still, even the wind had ceased its blowing, and the only sound was the quiet tapping of her shoes on the paved walk.

She wandered through her garden, ending up by the spring. She sat by its edge and thought of the daughter she so wished she had. Hours passed, and the night deepened. As she finally rose to leave, a spot of color caught her attention.

She drew near the natural spring and saw, to her surprise and confusion, a rose of deepest red, untouched by the frost, floating in the spring. Intrigued, she removed her warm glove and reached out to grab it. By chance or luck, she immediately cut herself on one of its sharp thorns and bled. Her warm, bright blood dripped onto the white snow, and it looked so beautiful she could not resist the wish that sprung unbidden to her lips.

You and I would not have dared utter such a wish with such omens on such a night. You and I would have known better. But the world was young then, and the people, though wise and good, were inexperienced, and unaware of the chaos that can be wrought with naught but good intentions.

So, wish she did, in her ignorance, for a daughter, wise, graceful, and fair, with hair as dark as night, skin as pale as snow, and lips as red as blood.

Nine months later, to the very hour, the Queen's wish was granted.


	3. Names

At first, she did not realize the curse she had brought upon her child. She was fair, her eyes were silver like the stars, her hair was deep onyx like winters' night, her skin was purest white and cold as snow. But in the suddenness of a single moment, she realized. The child's lips were red, not as blood, but with blood, and hid teeth of unnatural sharpness.

Horrified with her mistake, the queen set out to find some way, any way, to undo what she had done to her daughter. She spoke with her husband, king Emmet. She studied and searched and spoke with the greatest users of magic, all in vain. She died a mere three years after the birth of her daughter, exhausted with guilt, grief, and horror.

Because of her belief that this monster could not be her daughter, the Queen had not given the child a name. Names have power. They add shape to a new and inexperienced soul. They provide a guide and compass to the growing identity. They are deeply important in determining how the young child sees the world and herself. For the queen to leave the girl unnamed was a terrible mistake, for it meant that others would give her a name, as they spoke of her. And speak of her, they did. Tucked away in dark corners, full of nervous looks and hushed voices, they spoke of the child, in their old and flowing language, and called her after that which made her different and dangerous.

They called her "drink". But not all were fluent in their language, and as the rumors spread, without translation, that verb became a noun. A word and curse you are familiar with. And thus, the legend of Vampire, was born.

King Emmet, in a desperate attempt to forestall the dangers that such a name would bring, took to calling her Snow, and the court gradually followed suite, but it was too little, too late. The name of Vampir had already chosen her, and nothing could take it from her.


	4. The King

Many years passed, and she grew. She proved to be as wise and graceful and fair as her mother wished. All the court, male and female, were lost in envy of her looks and poise. If only they did not come with so sharp a smile.

The King, was in turmoil. His wife, whom he had believed to be the wisest and greatest of all women, had, in a moment of weakness, made a terrible mistake and brought great evil into the world, and then died, wasted away, leaving behind a great deal of confusion, fear, and a cursed daughter, with whom he was clueless as any man. He spent many long months thinking about what to do. Under any other circumstance, he would simply re-marry. But if his wife, wisest among women, could fall so far and blunder so greatly, wouldn't any other do so also?

In desperation, and seeing no other option, he remarried. He thought long and hard about whom he should choose. In the end, he decided on the fair lady Adair. She was intelligent, beautiful, and accomplished, much like his first wife, but instead of gentle and kind was hard and powerful. If any could deal with his frightening daughter, it would surely be her.

The wedding was magnificent. Lady Adair was radiant in her white and gold gown. King Emmet was resplendent in his rich robes of scarlet. The air was full of music and the sun shone on the proceedings. Only those who looked could see the one thing that was missing. 9 year old Snow, the fair daughter of the king, was absent.


	5. Lady Adair

As Lady Adair settled into the household, some things became known that were not known before, and things that were known took on new meaning.

It was known that Lady Adair was hard. Yet, what that meant, was unknown. The servants whisked about with their usual efficiency, yet it seemed less efficient, barely adequate, now. The butler and stewards did not decline in their anticipation of issues or observation of processes, yet the efficiency and logic with which the palace was run seemed to decline. The ladies in waiting grew no less intelligent or beautiful, yet as time went on it seemed like they became mirrors, parroting back ideas and arguments and only beautiful when flocking about the Lady.

It was known that Lady Adair was powerful. Yet, none expected the extent thereof. Endless tomes of magic creeped up the walls and began to spill off the shelves, and strange lights and sounds appeared when the dusting hadn't been done. Three large rooms were suddenly off-limits, the porters whispered that they had spent days carrying apparatuses of gold, silk, wood, and steel up the 5 flights of stairs to that room. They said that the smaller they were, the more they weighted. Finally, though only the Ladies in Waiting would have noticed, a staggering amount of creams, lotions, scrubs, soaps, oils, perfumes, and masks crowded around her (hastily expanded) Lavatory.

The king, while initially taken aback, was good natured about it. After all, she had been chosen her for her ability to keep up with his daughter, not for the convenience of his household staff. After a few initial attempts to learn what was being brought into his home, he allowed her to do as she wished. After all, if she wanted to focus on getting things done, it wouldn't be prudent for him to be constantly barging in.

Snow hated her. Emotions had more strength in those golden times, they loved harder and hated deeper than you and I can really understand. Perhaps Snow did not like the changes she brought with her. Perhaps she felt her mother was being replaced – poorly no less. Perhaps she was afraid her father would grow even more distant.

Or perhaps, she hated Lady Adair because Lady Adair hated her.


	6. Decision

Several years passed, and though nothing appeared to change, one very important change occurred.

As before, Snow spent much of her time in her mother's gardens, finding company and solace in the same red roses that had caused her birth. As was her custom, Lady Adair spent all her time secluded in her vast quarters, among her tomes and artifacts of magic.

Lady Adair was hard and not easily daunted or beaten. Yet. Idea after idea became mired in difficulties, blocked by obstacles, and eventually, cast aside in failure. Spell after spell was cast, ritual after ritual was performed, and a great deal of energy, intent, and magic was used up and tossed away in vain. Nothing would work. Though Lady Adair was hard, she found that Snow was harder. Cold and strong, and difficult to change.

As the months of failure dragged on into years, Lady Adair began to lose her sense of the appropriate. As all her concentrated and honest efforts met with failure she began to be angry. She hated what Snow was. She always had. But now, hate for what she was began to grow hate for her. She began to wonder if she was being sabotaged. She imagined that all the court laughed at her. She imagined that her husband believed her to be a failure. She imagined a great many things, and slowly but surely grew to hate the very sight of Snow, as her pale silver eyes seemed to reflect her failure back at her.

As their relationship worsened, the King slowly withdrew from the life of his daughter and wife, afraid to make the problem worse. As the years began to build up and the self-imposed distance grew ever greater, his daughter and wife both became strangers to him. He often wondered where he had gone wrong. He often sorrowed that he did not know how to make it right.

Desperation fueled her hate, and hate fueled her desperation in a terrible cycle, until Lady Adair could take it no more. She wanted nothing to do with Snow. She wanted her out and away, where she would never have to see or think of her again. She wanted this, more than she wanted anything else.

Lady Adair wanted Snow dead. She would do it herself.


	7. Long Live the King

The day she realized her ambition was no longer to aid snow but to destroy her, Lady Adair knew her husband would never stand for it. He must step out of the picture. It never once occurred to her that he could perhaps be persuaded or that there may be other people who would support her. It is lonely when you believe all the world is judging you, and you feel as if you must act alone. And so she did, first to take the king out of the picture, then to remove Snow.

She didn't want to kill him, that would be counter productive. She needed his authority to do what she wished. Instead, she wanted him subdued. Weak. But since the king was a strong man by nature, this was more easily said than done.

In the end, she settled on a spell, simple but powerful, that would take a soul and focus it on a concept to plague his every thought.

The queen knew the dangers of this spell, and so carefully chose what his center was to be. After all, if he left behind his attachment to her, all might be lost. So, she chose his center to be her. But, because the focus must be a concept, not another soul, she chose her beauty.

She cast her spell. Those who should have protected the king from such a terrible curse had long ago lowered their guards. Lady Adair spent all her energies on Snow, she was no danger to the king.

How wrong they were.

The kings many sons noticed the shift, but mostly dismissed it. It matched the romantic ideal that a husband should think well of his wife. If anything, they rejoiced in what appeared to be a healed relationship.

And thus, Lady Adair became the ruling queen, in all but name.


	8. Victor

Snow was not a fool. At 14 years she was far more experienced with deception and lies than an uncursed child would be. She knew that some evil spell had taken hold of her father. She knew Lady Adair was possessed of evil designs. Unfortunately, she did not know what to do about it, and was just as untrusted as Lady Adair believed herself to be. Despite this, she still would have tried. She would have stayed and done all in her power to help her father. But she was no longer the favored daughter of the king, and Lady Adair made her move too soon.

Snow took her lunch meal. She had difficulty sitting still. She paced and worried. Distracted as she was, she hadn't noticed the wrongness about the food. Not until halfway through her meal she reached for her wine glass, and pain burst behind her eyes and spread fire down her body and pooled around her heart.

She fell to the ground with a cry that died halfway out her lips as the muscles in her chest seized. The glass dropped from her trembling fingers and spilled its deep red liquid onto the stone floor. None moved to help her. The ground was cool against her skin and for a moment it soothed the fire running through her veins, but the union of magic and poison inside her was not finished, and the fire drowned her mind in heat and pain.

Lady Adair was giddy with relief. Months of searching for anything that might kill the monster had paid off so quickly and thoroughly that the triumph of the moment washed away all the previous years of frustration. The servants had already been intimidated and sworn to silence. None would tell of what she had done. She had the body disposed of out in the woods far from any path or track or road by her loyal retainer. He did not stay to bury it. The wind was promising a chill night, and instead he hurried home.

Her only focus now, was ensuring her husbands continued fixation on her beauty so the spell would continue. As she began to apply her power and determination to that task the shelves of her lavatory groaned under the influx of products, and the mirror on her wall began to absorb the magic that radiated from her as she spent long hours standing or sitting in front of it.

The kingdom churned on.


	9. Deep Are the Woods

Snow woke in the woods.

The fire receded slowly, the magic slowly fading and the poison finding ever fewer places to inflict harm. The sun had long since fallen behind the horizon, and the air was unseasonably chill. The trees were thick above her, their new leaves blocking any light the stars and moon may have cast upon her. There was a dampness in the air, promising frost the next morning. The grass was soft beneath her.

As the use of her muscles returned to her, so did her sharp mind. Of three things, she was sure: First, that her step mother had tried to kill her. Second, that she had failed. Third, Lady Adair would pay dearly for that grave oversight.

She slowly rose to her feet, driving away the lingering pains with slow deliberate action. Her dress was dirty, though still intact. Her hands were shaking in the cold, and her silver eyes shone like beacons in the dark.

Her first priority was to live through whatever remained of the night. The cold was unpleasant, but held no danger for her. However, woods are dangerous places. They hold all sorts of creatures and magic that is too dangerous to be allowed to exist alongside people. Some, even, that may be a match for her, as difficult as she was to kill. She must seek shelter.

Unfortunately, though the ground was relatively clear and the air still, no paths, people, or magic was within her range of sight or hearing. Calling for help would only catch the attention of that which she was trying to avoid. The only thing for it, was to pick a direction and hope she got lucky.

The night grew colder and darker around her, and an unnatural silence began to press on her ears. Though she continued to shiver in the cold and squint against the dark, the ground was visible before her, and her limbs did not numb. She continued.


	10. Magic by the Pond

The day came with glacial slowness, the slow lightening on the horizon, the gradual bleaching of the sky and dimming of the stars, shadows growing distinct from the heavy darkness. Finally, the tip of the sun crested over the horizon, and the world turned green. Snow continued to walk.

The day began to warm, and the woods grew even brighter. When the sun reached high into the sky, she came upon a river. Unwilling to cross it, Snow turned aside and walked along its bank downstream. The sun slowly fell back down from its lofty heights, and the forest began to dim once more. The sun hid behind the horizon and the gibbous moon shone on the river Snow still followed downstream.

The day dawned once again, and still Snow walked. She felt no desire to drink from the stream or eat the spring berries that dripped from nearby bushes. Water would not quench the thirst she felt, and berries would give her no nourishment, though if she could be sure they were not poisonous she may have taken some, just for something to do.

The woods had deepened, the trees growing taller and wider, the underbrush denser. The unnatural stillness of the first night seemed to return despite the bright sun. No animals chirped or scuttled, and even the river slowed and deepened and made almost no sound. Snow continued on.

The full moon was high in the sky and the unnatural stillness particularly heavy after the thunderous waterfall Snow had passed a few minutes before when she saw movement that was not her own. She stopped. Anything this deep in the woods was dangerous, and almost certainly unfriendly. She breathed slowly and deeply, tasting the scents on the air. Whatever moved before her smelled strongly of magic and salt. And blood.

Pulled forward by instinct she glided through the thick underbrush with a swift silence she had never before obtained. She paused where the trees abruptly ended. A wide, clear pool had carved out a clearing among the trees. In its center a spire of rock jutted abruptly from the dark water.

A maiden reclined against it. The moonlight shown on her, turning her long wet hair silvern and giving her bronzed skin a warm glow. Some fifteen feet from her upper body, a graceful fin flipped against the water, shimmering green, and churning up little droplets of silvery water.


	11. Song

Snow stood, breathless and still. Torn between her instincts pulling her toward the blood in the creatures veins, and the part of her mind that was screaming of danger. Nothing in these woods could be harmless.

Nonetheless, practicality must win out. She did not know how long she could last without blood. She had never gone more than a week before. By bad luck, it had been nearly that long now, and she was feeling it. She needed blood, if not now then soon, and who knew when she would come across another creature again?

Decision made she slipped out of the tree line and stood by the lake. The maiden in the pond did not notice her. Two days of avoiding the river, and now this. Snow slipped off her slippers and stepped into the water. The moment her foot touched the water's surface, the maiden whirled around. Her eyes glowed green in the darkness.

Calm silver eyes held thoughtful green for a long moment. Suddenly the maiden turned away and began humming in the darkness. Snow continued wading through the water, disturbing its mirrorlike surface. She went slowly and cautiously despite her thirst pulling her forward.

As the seconds went by, the humming grew louder, and Snow began to move faster. Jittery hurry seeped into her movements as a strange curiosity began to grow. It pushed her forward recklessly, a strange desire to meet the lovely maiden growing painfully strong. Nearly running now in the water higher than her waist, she realized, with a sudden strange clarity, that the maiden's humming had grown louder and fuller. An icy chill passed through Snow, though she was unsure why. She stumbled slightly, suddenly afraid, and the maiden burst into song.

Against her will she was pulled several steps forward. She knew, now, something was wrong, but was pulled forward still. Suddenly, the ground disappeared beneath her, the dark reflective surface of the lake hiding the sudden drop off, and fell forward into the water. Just before her head went under, she saw a green blur moving down and heard a splash, loud in the sudden silence.


	12. Blood

**Authors Note:** _Hello my two followers! I'm so sorry about not posting yesterday, I have no idea what happened. Please forgive this chapter. Fight scenes are hard._

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The chill water closed over her head.

Fear jolted through her, and she jerked reflexively backward toward the shelf she had just fallen off of. She stood quickly. The rock was deserted, and the surface was unnaturally still, ripples from her standing the only marks upon it. She could see nothing beneath its surface.

She paused, then dropped back under the water, forcing her eyes open. With the salt she had smelled, she expected it to burn, but her eyes felt no pain. The lake was impossibly clear, though dimly lit. She could see the stones beneath her feet. She could see the drop off just in front of her. She could see the walls of the lake as it went down, down, down, and just barely the bottom, far, far, away. She could see the spire of dark rock rising from the center of the lake. She could not see the maiden.

Whirling around, she glimpsed the maiden less than ten feet away, teeth bared, moving toward her with impossible speed. The maiden's teeth were longer and sharper than hers. And far more numerous.

Snow jerked sideways, pushing away the hand that grabbed at her. The maiden spun in the water face contorted into a snarl. Snow decided she was not so beautiful after all. The maiden rushed her again, Snow dropped low and the maiden passed above her. The long tail whipped past her and caught Snow across her shoulder blades, knocking her even flatter onto the lake bed. She struggled to her feet just in time to see a mouth full of teeth inches from her face. Once again, she dove aside, but just a little too slowly, and the maiden managed to sink her teeth into Snow's left shoulder.

Reflexively Snow attempted to push her off, hands braced against the bottom of the maiden's neck. Her blood clouded the water and made it difficult to focus or see, but as she pushed she felt something give way beneath her hands and fresh blood, deeper and saltier than her own, spilled into the water.

Distracted by pain and ruled by instinct, Snow snapped forward and sank her teeth into the maiden's neck, guided by the wound she had made. The maiden jerked beside her, teeth still imbedded in her shoulder, before she began trying to push Snow away. It made no difference, and the maiden gradually stopped struggling.


	13. Bear

Snow staggered toward the shore near where she had left her slippers, pulling the long limp body behind her and sending ripples across the unnaturally still lake. She heaved the top half of the maiden up onto the shore. She now looked pale and sickly in the moonlight, her hair stringy, and proportions awkward. Her dull green eyes stared up at the leafy canopy, and her long tail now looked awkward and limiting. The smallest stream of purplish blood dripped down her neck.

Snow staggered away down the bank. She was wet and strangely tired, but her thirst had faded. She sat heavily beside her slippers on the shore. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east before she rose to her feet, donned her slippers and continued downstream.

Three days later, the forest began to recede. The trees began to lessen, the darkness grew less stifling, and the undergrowth grew less impassable. It was no wonder she was less vigilant than she should have been.

The river widened and shallowed, and the bank sloped down toward it. Snow was well clear of the tree cover before she realized she was not alone. A bear stood in the water, though it was facing the other way. Snow stopped, surprised. Only then did she realize that she could not smell it. The wind was blowing the wrong way. Which meant the bear knew she was there.

She backed away. The bear stood still. She watched it carefully, and noticed several things. Even for a bear, it was large. It was far off, but she felt certain it would be taller than the trees if it stood. Also, she had thought that brown bears looked nearly copper in the sun, but though this one was standing in the sun, it still looked nearly black.

She tripped. Nearly. She caught herself at the last second, but when she looked again the bear was watching her. And it had red eyes. She suddenly became aware of a low growl that she could feel in her bones but only just barely hear in her ears. She slowly took a step back. The bear charged.

Snow ran. I am sure you have been told that you should never run from a bear. They are far faster than you or I, and there are better ways to avoid getting mauled. Snow did not know this, but even if she had, that good advice only applies to the normal variety, and this bear was far from normal. So, Snow ran. The bear ran too. Snow did not look behind her but could hear it crashing through the woods after her. And getting closer. Much closer.


	14. Running

Snow focused on running faster. The woods began to rush by more quickly and the wind grew louder. The crashing did not come any closer. Snow pushed herself faster still. The trees turned to blurs of green, and the ground seemed to pass by in great leaps and bounds. The crashing receded. After several minutes, Snow couldn't hear it at all. She glanced behind her, and promptly tripped. Crashing to the ground and sliding along it for several meters, plowing up dirt, grass, sticks and one large thorn bush snow finally came to a stop.

She lay looking up at the canopy, mentally cataloging where it hurt and gathering the will to get up and keep walking. When would this ridiculous forest end? She pulled herself to her feet, brushed herself off, and started walking.

She kept walking, and the trees continued to thin. All of a sudden, a path appeared. It was small and faint, and ran along the river for some time on the opposite side. Snow looked for a place where the now quickly rushing river was slower and shallower, and crossed. Then she walked back upstream to the path.

She had been walking along it for about fifteen minutes when it suddenly split. She paused. The path to the left was wider and more often traveled. The path to the right was slimmer, less used. She suddenly wondered what, exactly she was hoping to find. Who would take her in? Certainly most wouldn't, and she couldn't really blame them.

She stood and thought. Would some hermit be more likely to take her in? Would she have better luck in a town with many people? There would certainly be more for her to drink there. In the end, that decided it. She turned onto the wider path and continued walking.

The sky began to dim, and life became abundant. Insects hummed, birds chirped, and bushes dripping with berries began to fill the surroundings. The woods she had spent the last few days in suddenly seemed desolate.

Finally, she rounded yet another corner, and was presented with a cottage. There were no other buildings in sight, and the path she had been walking on led right to the front door. The more-traveled path had led her to a dead end.


	15. Cottage

Just because the path did not lead to where Snow thought she was going did not mean the cottage was unwelcome. The people who lived here could probably give her some valuable information. Like where she was. And how far it was to a town. And what direction she needed to go.

Thinking positive thoughts, she resumed her walk toward the cottage. The closer she got, the more details she could see. Flowers spilling onto the path, encroaching onto the lawn, and creeping up the walls of the house. Wildflowers and mushrooms growing in grass just taller than her ankles. Trees heavy with fruits clumped together behind the house.

Standing on the doorstep she realized that the "cottage" was much bigger than it had looked at first glance, too big to really be called a cottage. It was also very old, made of the kind of stonework that was once sharp and neat but has been worn by time and weather into a smooth, polished surface.

Pausing on the doorstep, Snow realized that it was surprisingly quiet. After leaving behind the river the sound of its flowing water had been quickly replaced by the sounds of small animals. Now, however, the only sound was of wind rustling the uncut grass.

She knocked on the door. It seemed odd that it did not have a knocker, the house was so large that it seemed silly it could lack something so simple. The sound seemed very wrong and loud in the peaceful setting.

No one answered. Snow knocked again. Several minutes passed, so Snow knocked again. Still nothing. Night was falling rapidly and Snow was unsure what to do. There was no rule that she must be invited in, but to invite herself in would be unwise. A man's home is his castle, and any who could often put at least a charm or two up against potential thieves.

So far out in the woods, it seemed unlikely that the home did not have several warding's and defenses on it. Not to mention the fact that it would be unspeakably rude to waltz in uninvited. After a moment of dithering, Snow decided she had been out in the woods for nearly a week now, and few extra hours wouldn't hurt her. She left the doorstep and walked around the back to admire the gardens.


	16. Garden

The gardens were admirable. She had noticed the trees at the far edge of the clearing, but now she was closer could see the fruit they bore; oranges, lemons, apples, apricots, plums, and nuts of all kind dripped from trees that mingled together. Against the house were bushes laden with berries of all kinds and others with brilliant flowers. Ivies grew up the walls and over the many windows. The garden itself did not appear to have a border, but instead seemed defined by dirt paths winding through it.

There were sections of fruits and vegetables, watermelons encroaching on the strawberries and planted underneath grape vines tangled with the tomatoes that loomed over carrots perched next to large balls of lettuce.

There were patches of herbs, a great rosemary bush and a swath of basil, as well as more powerful herbs like Anise and Chicory growing in large bundles beside hemlock and other herbs which Snow knew neither the names nor use of.

And of course, there were flowers. Carnations leaning over Chrysanthemums which surrounded the lavender which gave way to carnations. Daisies and dandelions sprung up in all the little gaps between the larger groupings. Ferns as dark as the forest at night and as bright as the grass in the sun seemed scattered throughout.

After wandering about, she was drawn to a gap where no flowers grew. After approaching it, she saw that it was a spring, clear and deep. The light now nearly gone, and Snow unsure if she could navigate the twisting, unpredictable pathways in the dark, sat beside it, and determined to wait there.

Twilight descended upon her. The woods began to shine. At first, Snow assumed her eyes were playing tricks on her. She glimpsed a sharp blue glow just beyond the tree line and low to the ground, but the moment she tried to scrutinize it, it vanished. A moment later, again, in a different part of the woods and this time the height of the lower-hanging branches. It again disappeared after a few moments. They continued to appear and disappear all around the tree line, at all heights in all shades including warm yellow, deep green, fiery orange, and purest white.

The wind also, seems strangely musical, dancing around her and through the trees, sounding of flutes and harps and sprightly fiddles and voices that all became more quiet and muddled the harder she listened. She found herself leaning forward, as if to go and search out the music makers and brilliant lights, but resisted.

When twilight faded and night fell, the lights stopped appearing and the strange music ceased.


	17. The Resident

**Authors Note: _Once again, I forgot to post. I am in the midst of studying for finals. So there is that. Sorry._**

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The moon was high overhead when Snow woke abruptly. When had she fallen asleep? It seemed like moments ago the music from the trees had finally faded. She was laying on her side in the grass, staring at the moon's reflection in the pool.

She pulled herself upright. She felt strangely alert for having been fast asleep moments ago. Why had she woken anyway?

She looked around and could neither see nor hear anything out of the ordinary. Yet, there was something tugging at her, something that her subconscious wanted her to notice. Hesitantly, she rose to her feet and breathed deeply.

Magic tingled on her tongue and up her nose. Thick, heavy magic, unlike any she had felt before. It felt like life – overwhelming life. As if adrenaline were pumping through your veins and you were perfectly, impossibly, painfully aware of every part of you existing. It was strange, and wonderful, and strong. And it was coming from behind her.

She turned, but the garden was still empty of human life. Hesitantly, she began to walk in the direction of the strongest magic. It led her to the house. What was she to do now? She did not wish to meet whomever gave off such an aura, but was it wise to leave without gaining help?

She also knew she would spend the rest of her life wondering if she did not look now.

She walked around the front door and, once again, knocked. Once again, the house remained silent, though the aura of magic grew stronger still until Snow felt as if she were suffocating. Just when she was about to give up and leave this strange place as quickly as possible, the door opened.

A man stood in the doorway. The house was dark behind him, yet she could see him clearly, as if a soft light was shining upon him. The impression he gave was young. He wore neat, simple clothes in natural, undyed colors, save for a vest of navy blue. His hair was warm brown, his skin sun browned, ears gently pointed. He was neither tall, nor thickly muscled, but he had an air about him of the kind of strength that comes from clean living. She would guess him to be twenty, if not for his eyes.

They were deep blue, close in color to his vest, but that didn't matter. What did matter was the ageless power swirling behind them.


	18. Dangerous Words

**Authors Note:** _I realized when I began writing this chapter that I had left an important detail out of the last one. So I went and modified a sentence in the last paragraph of the previous chapter. If you are one of my subscribers, I suggest you re-read that paragraph before you come back here. Sorry about that. If you are new, welcome!_

* * *

"It has been a long time since we have had guests. Please come in." He sounded like many of the young men at court, with language both cultured and precise. Snow did not wish to enter. She wanted only to be on her way. However, she had also heard of what this man was. She knew it would be foolish to turn down the offer of guest or show anything that may be construed as ingratitude.

"Thank you for the invitation." She replied, and stepped over the threshold and past him as he shut the door behind her. The room was dim, lit by a single small lamp sitting on the side-table.

"You look like you have had a difficult day. Please allow me to make up a room for you and tomorrow we can enjoy each other's company." His face was calm, and his tone casual, though his eyes were shining.

"Thank you for your generosity," Snow replied, thinking quickly, "but I do not wish to impose upon you or your companions, a simple word of guidance would be very helpful, and all I require." It wasn't perfect she was sure. She wished she had spent more time learning how to deal with fey, but it was the best she could come up with. It would have to do.

"I assure you, it is no hardship to spare a room, and though guidance may be all you require, a little more certainly wouldn't hurt, and I would not wish to rush a guest." The gentleman countered, eyes still twinkling with hidden mirth.

Snow dithered, she knew she was in far over her head. Accepting would almost certainly impose more expectations upon her that she was not aware of, but to refuse to accept hospitality now, after accepting the status of guest, may be deadly. Pushing back the panic beginning to dry her throat and flutter in her stomach, she latched onto one thing she knew. She was a guest. An invited guest. Neither he nor any of his absent companions could harm her.

"Well, then, if you are sure it is no inconvenience, I would be glad to enjoy your hospitality for the night." Those last three words were important, she knew. She must be very careful not to promise anything more than she intended.

For a single moment, his bland façade slipped just out of place and his lips twitched up slightly in what could only be a rueful smirk. But then he turned and beckoned her up the stairs and down the hall to a small bedroom that held a bed fit for a king.

Despite her lingering worries and apprehension, Snow fell to sleep more deeply and quickly than she ever had before.


	19. Dust

There was sun falling through the window when Snow awoke. In the light, she noticed several things she hadn't last night. First, although the window was wide, there were no drapes upon it. Second, though the bed was incredibly soft, wide, and richly embroidered, the other furniture in the room was simple and Spartan. Finally, of the four flat surfaces in the room, all but the bed had an arrangement of flowers upon it.

Snow rose. She set the blankets to right, and peeked into the small mirror hanging above the desk next to the washbasin. She looked to be in poor condition indeed. Her hair drooped around her face in long, greasy strands. Her eyes had faded to dull grey and sported deep shadows under them. Even for her, she was pale.

Looking down, the rest of her had fared just as poorly. After tangling with the creature in the lake and being chased by a bear, her dress was tattered and slashed, as well as dirty. Her shoes were only a few fraying stitches away from falling off, and dirtier than the rest of her. To top off the sight, a layer of dust had settled onto her, coating her hair, hands and legs and settling into the embroidery on her dress and dulling its colors.

It took a good half hour of concentrated effort before Snow was satisfied with her appearance. In the end, she had been forced to resort to stripping naked and scrubbing everything with the soft cloth left with the basin of wash water. After a good half hour of concentrated effort, the clear water in the basin turned a dark brown, and Snow finally felt reasonably clean.

However, she was unwilling to put on the dress she had just taken off. It would only make her dirty again, and after all that effort to get clean too. After a moment of thought, she re-donned her underclothes, tore off the ragged and dirty bottom five inches of her underdress, slipped that on, and stole the relatively clean tie of her overdress.

She once more eyed herself in the mirror as she gathered her hair out of her face and rolled it into a simple bun. She wouldn't win any points for fashion or beauty, but she was at least clean and presentable. That would have to do.

After all, she had more important things to worry about. It was time to meet her hosts.


	20. The Name of the Host

**Authors Note:** _Hello again! I am sorry to say that after having actually looked at what remains of my summer schedule, it turns out that I am booked pretty solid. My family has a general "No internet while on vacation" rule and though it is loosely enforced it appears that I will literally have no internet connection at all for the next three days for the family reunion. It also appears that the rest of my summer will continue in the same vein, with long stretches of vacation. I'm excited, but it appears that I won't be able to keep a regular posting schedule anymore. I will still do my best to keep posting whenever I am in town and not horribly jetlagged, but I can't promise anything. That said, do not fear! This story will be finished if its the last thing I do._

 _Happy fourth of July!_

* * *

She slipped out of her room and walked back down the long hallway to the stairs. Halfway down it, a door opened. The man from last night walked out of it, wearing a green vest. She stopped and waited for him to notice her. He seemed distracted, as he leaned against his door murmuring just below her range of hearing at the thick book he held. He stood there, in the middle of the hall, and showed no signs of moving. After several awkward moments, Snow cleared her throat, "Excuse me?".

He jumped and turned around, and Snow realized that it was not the same man after all. Though this man shared the same skin tone, hair color, and pointed ears as the one she had spoken to last night, this man had green eyes. Brilliant green eyes. And he was staring at her with unconcealed shock.

"Ah, hello." He looked as if no one had informed him of her presence, and she was unsure what to say. She needn't have worried, it appeared he hadn't notice she had said anything at all. His eyes went wide, and he was gaping at her openmouthed.

"What are you?" He exclaimed. He leaned forward and critically examined her eyes. Snow leaned back uncomfortably. "Excuse me?"

"How are you living? You don't appear to have any energy." He had slipped behind her somehow and tried to grab her hair.

"Excuse me!" Snow jerked forward out of his grasp and whirled around.

"Yes, yes, your excused." He mumbled distractedly, "A straightforward reading would probably give me a push in the right direction," He pushed forward again and reached for her hands, "hold still for a moment."

"Grenarin. Control yourself." Snow turned, and with relief, saw the elf who had welcomed her last night. "Do try not to bother our guest unduly."

The green vested elf, Grenarin, evidentially, jumped back in surprise. "Navormall. Of course. Excuse me." He left quickly, leaving Snow wondering if she had imagined the anger that had disappeared as soon as it appeared in the face of her navy-clad host. Whose name was evidently Navormall.

Grenarin in green. Navormall in Navy. Snow forcibly attempted to push the names into her memory. Names were important to remember, she knew they had power. Fortunately, a lifetime of attending courtly functions with people she barely knew had provided ample opportunity for her to become adept at memorizing names.

That the skill had become so vital now almost made it worth it.


	21. They Who Live in the House

**Authors Note:** _Hello my friends! This chapter has a lot of difficult names in it. To help all of us out, The first few letters of the name correspond to the color of the vest they are wearing, and will continue to wear for the rest of their presence in this story. As far as the actual names go, I started with a list of traditional Gaelic names, and then changed the first syllable as necessary. Good luck!_

* * *

"Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the residents." Navormall said, and gestured toward the stairs back down to the main floor.

"That would be wonderful." Snow started toward the stairs. Only to stop halfway there as yet another young man with pointy ears came up the stairs. Unlike Navormall and Grenarin however, his hair and eyes were deep black. He was wearing a black vest.

"Again, Darion?" Navormal sounded disapproving, but unsurprised. He looked up guiltily. With pursed lips, Navormal turned to Snow and said, "This is Darion. Perhaps if you are lucky you will chance across him when he has not stayed up all the night, but it seems unlikely."

Darion looked somewhat abashed. Snow was unsure how to respond to that, so she settled for an attentive nod and ran through the names again. Darion in the dark vest. Grenarin in green. Navormal in navy.

Darion slipped past them, and once more they started down the stairs.

As she finally made it down the stairs, Snow realized that she had far more hosts than she had originally assumed. Not counting Navormall, who was still behind her, Darion who had gone up the stairs, and Grenarin who she had met in the hall, there were four more young men with pointed ears lounging about the kitchen. Interestingly, they too were all wearing different colored vests.

As she stood in the doorway taking this in, Navormal cleared his throat behind her. In a single moment, every one of them stood and turned to face her, including Grenarin who actually put down his book to do so.

"Please welcome our guest." Navormal announced, standing beside Snow and smiling blandly.

In response, they began to step forward and introduce themselves. The young man with gold eyes, red hair, and a crimson vest introduced himself as Redease. The startlingly similar men with the same brown hair but different eyes stated they were brothers, then introduced themselves, the blue eyed and vested one as Blidarmd and the brown eyed and vested one as Brolian. Lastly, the grey eyed and white vested fae by the door introduced himself as Whitaran.

Snow consciously memorized them all, feeling immeasurably grateful for all the practice she had gained learning names from court functions.

Now that all the introductions had been given, Navormal turned towards her with the same bland smile, and asked, "What is your name, guest?"


	22. Introduction

With his question, a sudden chill ran down her spine, and she knew, suddenly, that to give this man her true name would be an irreparable mistake. Despite this sudden certainty, the only name she could bring to the tip of her tongue was Vampir. She knew the answer she needed to give that was neither a lie nor dangerous, but it would not form on her lips.

As she watched Navormal, his lips began to curl upwards as his previously bland smile turned mocking and his eyes began to sparkle. She forced her gaze away, and finally managed to push from her lips the answer she wished to give.

"Snow. My name is Snow."

The room seemed still. Looking up once more, every man in the room was looking through her with sharp bright eyes and solemn expressions. The mirth that had been present mere moments before seemed suddenly much more desirable than this sudden tomblike stillness.

She turned, somewhat confused, to Navormal who was still standing beside her, and with the proximity to him she saw the myriad of emotions his solemn expression was hiding. His sharp eyes seemed to be assessing her, confusion slowly being pushed out by caution. Snow realized, with a sort of dull dread, that her host was afraid of her.

Looking closely at the others in the room, she realized that they, too, were afraid, and not nearly as successful at hiding it. This was bad. Fear is the enemy of societal relations. It twisted people away from reason, calm, toleration, and listening, and toward, anger, violence, hate, and distrust. In short, it was everything she didn't need right now.

Unfortunately, no truth she could tell would calm their fears. She was dangerous to them. She wished she knew what she had done to inspire such fear. Just the little knowledge would help immensely.

"How much power the mere mention of my name must have as it so quickly brings solemnity to an otherwise light and joyful gathering. One would think you wished me to leave." Perhaps such a simple statement, when paired with such a reprimand, would bring forth an explanation, or even better, a hint at what was expected of her.

"We would never wish a guest to leave. Please come and eat with us." Navormal was smiling again, but the twinkle in his eyes had not re-appeared. Instead, they radiated calmness. As he waved Snow into the kitchen, she could feel the subtle relaxing of the atmosphere as all present met the gaze of her host.

For she could see, now, that it was Navormal who was hosting her, and that the others present had little influence within the house.


	23. Feast

Snow seated herself at the table, in the seat Navormal clearly intended her to, and the others filed in and sat around her. The table was circular, and set for eight, though one place was left empty, presumably meant for the missing Darion who had not reappeared after having gone upstairs earlier. To her right sat Navormal, and on her left was Whitaran.

What followed was the strangest feast Snow had ever partaken in. Fresh fruit was available in such abundance and variety as would bankrupt a king, despite many of them not ripening at the same time. Many little bowls of sweet cream, unsalted butter, and pure honey as well as plates of thick cheese littered the table in such a casual display of wealth Snow felt guilty using them. In contrast, the bread was dense (though warm and plentiful), and there appeared to be no meat or wine present at all!

Despite the strangeness of the feast, it was easily the most satisfying and delicious food she had ever tasted. All of the fruit was bursting in sweetness and flavor, even the simple apples far outclassed any she had tasted before. Despite the coarseness and density of the bread, Snow was shocked by its rich taste and filling properties. Even the water was cool and sweet to her taste.

Never before had Snow considered a meal of fruit and bread, but now she could think of none other that would be as satisfying. Evidently, her fellow diners thought so as well, and despite the towers of fruit upon the table at the beginning of the meal, the platters of fruit and bread lay empty by the end.

There was a contented silence around the table, that Snow suddenly realized had lasted all through the meal. With the quietest of clinking noises, the last glass was emptied and set down. Despite the early hour, Snow felt content. As if she could sit there in silence with her strange companions for the rest of the day and into the night without boredom or wish to do elsewise.

However, the long stretched moment was broken as Navormal spoke and seemed to draw all out of the content state they were in. "Snow, would you be so willing as to come speak with me?"

She looked to her right and directly into the calm and curious eyes of her host. Feeling a bit curious herself and not a bit threatened by the simple request, Snow agreed. "I would be happy to."


	24. Gathering Information

**Authors Note:** _For being so patient, enjoy this longer-than-usual- chapter. Also, I will definitely, for sure, be posting tomorrow and Wednesday._

* * *

As Snow left the table and followed Navormal past the stairs and into what could only be an office, complete with a writing desk and potted plant, she noticed that Whitaran had followed them. He closed the door behind him and remained standing beside it as Navormal sat, not at the writing desk, but on one of the chairs beside the window. He gestured for Snow to sit beside him.

There was a moment of stillness as he gazed at her attentively. Finally, he asked, "what brings you into the woods Lady Snow?"

Treading cautiously, she replied, "I found it needful to obtain another place of residence. Due to a sudden series of events, I found I was unwelcome where I was."

He considered this for a moment, then asked, "Would this series of events pertain to your, condition?"

"Not directly," she paused, wondering how much she should tell him, "though it certainly was an important part."

"I see," He seemed to be weighing his words as carefully as Snow was, "and what, precisely, is your condition?"

Snow looked at him and tried to think rationally. He appeared to be afraid of her, which implied that not only did he see in her more power than she could, but that he saw it in the mere few hours she had been in his company. With his question, he clearly didn't know what she was, but his ability to so quickly see that something was different, and remembering her encounter with Grenarin on the stairs, led her to believe that he had the tools to help her understand her condition far better than she did. Which was attractive. All of her life everyone had pressured her to hide and fix her condition, yet these past few days in the wood had already shown how little she knew about it.

It seemed wise to tell him a little and see what he does with it. "My condition, is the result of a wish made by my mother before I was born."

His eyes lit up with interest, "And how was this curse worded?"

She noticed that he had re-labeled the wish as a curse. Curious, she told him how she had wished for, "A daughter, wise, graceful, and fair, with hair as dark as night, skin as pale as snow, and lips as red as blood." She also told him of the rose in the spring, and the winters midnight.

He listened avidly to her story without a single interruption. When she finished he said, "That sounds like a powerful curse indeed, with far reaching consequences. Are you aware of any?"

He seemed genuinely curious, and unlikely to react violently, so Snow decided to tell him. "The most concerning aspect is that I require others' blood to satiate my thirst." It was almost surreal, stating that which made her feared and hated so baldly and in such flowery language. Combined with the unusual reactions she had been subject to since waking up, she felt as if walking into the house had moved her into another, strange dimension which everything was almost the same but twisted just so. She realized that that would be an adequate description of the fey.

As Snow had predicted, Navormal gave no outward sign that what she had just said was anything other than a polite comment on the weather. Snow thought she might have seen his eyes widen, in what emotion she was not sure, but it may have merely been a trick of the light.

"I see." He nodded slowly, then leaned forward steepling his hands and gazing intently at Snow's face. "And what, do you plan to do to obtain that blood while you stay here?"


	25. Negotiations - Part 1

Snow had no answer. The silence sat and the birds chirped outside. Finally, realizing that to delay any longer would be pointless, she admitted, "I don't know".

There was more stillness in the room, and Snow did not meet his eyes. She could feel Whitaran's gaze piercing into her back.

Finally, Navormal relaxed back into his seat and stated, "May I offer a suggestion?"

The release of tension in the room was nearly audible. Navormal wanted her to stay. And he had a plan. "Please, go ahead."

"First, is it possible for you to subsist on a non-fatal amount supplied by my men?"

"Oh, yes." Snow was very glad she had experimented with this. "A non-dangerous amount once a week is all I require."

"In that case, may I offer you a deal?"

Snow paused. She realized, suddenly, that she wanted to stay, despite the danger. Here was someone who knew only her secret, and despite not knowing she was the daughter of the king, still wanted her here. He did probably want something from her, but regardless of the reason, the result was that she was wanted and welcome. Snow wondered if maybe she could belong here. She didn't realize how much she wanted to belong somewhere until just now.

However, making deals with fey was unwise. Until you dealt with one, you were safe. However, fey consider all contracts binding, including (and maybe especially) purely verbal ones. This was why you had to watch your words carefully around them. If they perceived you had broken your deal in some way, you opened yourself up to retaliation, and fey were known for their creativity. In addition, even when you knowingly go to deal, they are masters of words and meaning and have trapped many in unintended commitments or promises.

"I would be happy to hear your suggestion." Surely it couldn't hurt to at least hear the offer.

Navormal relaxed back into his chair and smiled. "Nothing complex. I and my men will provide you with the blood necessary to your wellbeing and a place to sleep safely. In return, you will work with my men to explore your condition so that we may understand its repercussions and aid us against those who attempt to harm us."


	26. Negotiations - Part 2

Snow inwardly grimaced. As she expected, it was worded so that what they were to do for her was very narrowly defined, and what she was to do for them was left as wide as the sky. She had to tack that down a bit. She put on her best face of innocent surprise. "Who would attempt to harm you?"

His lips twitched slightly, "The village down the road often comes looking for us. There is also a circle of unseelie fae up the river. Additionally, the woods are full of dangerous animals. All of these cause threats to us."

"How unfortunate. With all those threats, how would you be able to safely explore my condition? Surely it would be unwise to become too distracted."

Navormal smiled, "Grenarin has never been the most observant, and he will be the one working with you to give suggestions of what to do or how to do it. He is quite learned in the many forms of magic and will be best suited toward giving you advice."

Snow nodded. Those were both fairly specific. Now she had to figure agree to those terms specifically.

"Well then, it seems only fair that if you provide me with an amount of blood necessary to my wellbeing and a place safety from the queen, I would assist your defense against the nearby village, the circle of fae up the river and the dangerous animals, as well as work with Grenarin to explore my potential magic."

She was sure it was not perfect, but she had closed all the loopholes she could see, and the only thing to do now was hope she didn't miss something deadly. It was already much too late to back out.

Navormal smiled cheerfully. His eyes sparkled and he took her hand, "I accept your terms and hold you to your oath."

After realizing she had no idea the correct response, Snow paused. "Likewise," She finally said.

It seemed to have been close enough, for in response Navormal kissed her hand, and released it. There was another brief pause, as Snow gradually realized that she had just agreed to stay.

Whiteran spoke, and Snow jumped, having forgotten that he was still standing there by the door. "The sun moves quickly. Allow us to provide you with adequate clothing before you sleep again tonight."

Snow was surprised to hear the request, but grateful. "I would be happy to accept your generous offer."

Whiteran beckoned, and Snow rose and followed him out of the room, leaving Navormal behind.


	27. The Tailor

**Authors Note:** _I Have officially returned from my last vacation! I will not be returning to my once-a-day schedule, but updates will pick up and be less random. I'm sorry to say that this chapter is somewhat short, and is a bit of a filler chapter, but it needs to be done. The plot will pick up again in the next chapter, I promise._

* * *

Surprisingly quickly Snow found herself standing in yet another airy and windowed room, this one, however, held a wide table, a comfortable chair, and a small shelf of sewing implements, including a ruler, scissors, a few needles, a tape measure, chalk, and a large pincushion. However, as far as she could see, there was no fabric or thread to be found, let alone a spinning wheel or loom of any kind.

Despite this apparent lack of supplies, Brolian enthusiastically gathered up the tape measure and procured ink, pen, and parchment from the table. Though Snow was somewhat skeptical of the ability of a man, even a fey one, to sew, Whitaran had seemed entirely confident in his capabilities when he had asked him to "fit her for some proper clothes", so she was currently reserving judgement.

Once gathered, he paused and looked at her for a moment. Snow suddenly realized that to get a proper measurement, she would need to remove her dress. She could feel her cheeks flushing, but there was no getting around it, and deciding to spare him the embarrassment of having to ask her she questioned, "Ah, do you need me to remove my dress?"

He blinked in surprise, then replied, "No, I don't think so. I believe the material you are wearing is thin enough that it should not be an issue."

Vastly relieved, and very glad she was not wearing her thick overdress, Snow nodded.

There was another pause. Now Brolian looked terribly uncomfortable. "Ah, would you like to measure or . . ."

And Snow realized that measuring involved a great deal of touching. "I have been measured before, Brolian. Please go ahead."

Brolian looked relieved, and quickly set to it. Despite the terrible awkwardness she had never experienced with women tailors, he seemed like he knew what he was doing. Measuring around her waist, hips and bust, across her shoulders, and down her back to the floor.

Finally, he stepped back and marked the final measurement on the parchment. "Do you have any color preferences Lady?"

"Not really . . ." Snow said.

"Well, then, that's all."

Snow nodded, and when Brolian turned away and began scrawling on the piece of parchment, Snow wandered out of the room, clearly dismissed, but unsure where she was supposed to go next, let alone how to get there.


	28. Second Impressions

**Author's Note:** _Yes, I know, I know. I imagine this is not what you were expecting. Not only did I fail to post yesterday (as promised) I promised more plot, and a longer chapter. Neither of which this is. I'm sorry. I am trying to get back in the habit of writing, and it turns out that dialogue is ridiculously tricky to write. Good news, I have already written what I plan to post tomorrow, so it should actually get posted, and it is much longer. See you then!_

* * *

She was standing there outside of the door, wondering how exactly Brolian was planning on sewing an entire dress by evening, when Grenarin peeked around the corner.

"Ah, hello Lady Snow." He looked somewhat embarrassed.

"Hello Grenarin." Snow smiled at him.

He stepped fully out from behind the wall. "I would like to apologize for the manner in which I behaved earlier this morning. It was brought on by my surprise, and will not happen again."

Snow noticed that he despite the stiff and formal words and posture, he still appeared slightly flushed. She said, "There was no harm done. I could have handled it had I not been so surprised myself."

Grenarin looked shocked at this reply. "Really?"

"Yes. No need to look so surprised."

Now Grenarin did flush, deeply. "Well, I mean, it's just, well, most people just tell me to leave them alone and keep my thoughts to myself."

"How silly of them. I, for one am looking forward to finding out more about myself." Snow replied smoothly, masking her surprise in the unsolicited personal information.

However, it seemed to be the right thing to say, as before she had even finished speaking Grenarin seemed to inflate with energy, enthusiasm and a great deal of good cheer. "Well I am excited too!" He announced, "Come! Shall we get started?"

And then, without waiting for her to answer, he all but bounced down the hall. Snow followed quickly, amused at the sudden extreme change in his manner. She had the feeling that he would not spend another moment as the stiff and worried creature that had creeped around the corner just moments before. She was forced to admit she was quite looking forward to working with this cheerful fae.

They ended up in the garden, by the very same spring that Snow had fallen asleep beside just last night. It was well shaded at this time, and it seemed natural to sit on the soft grass.

Grenarin leaned forward earnestly. "Now, I know you have just told Navormal this, but it is very important to understand where we are starting from, as far as what we know, so would you please tell me how you came to be under this curse?"


	29. Reveal

So Snow began her tale again. Despite the fact that she had just had the exact same conversation less than an hour ago, it felt completely different. Here, outside on the lawn and surrounded by light and life it felt, freeing, to talk so openly, as opposed to the deep-seated apprehension that had plagued her inside the house. It could not have hurt that Grenarin was a far better listener than Navormal, often interjecting with cries of "really!" or "what!" or an interested "oh?".

It was so enjoyable that after the tale was told Snow found herself circling back around to add in more details. He received them all with obvious interest, and she found herself giving more and more small details until she began to wonder if they were even relevant. She realized that she liked it when his eyes lit up in fascination. She was detailing the clothes her mother had been wearing at the time, down to the embroidery on her hood and the material of her petticoats, when she realized that she was only embarrassing herself further and needed to stop talking.

She broke off in the middle of her sentence and quickly finished, " . . .But that wasn't really out of the ordinary, so it probably doesn't matter."

Though Snow had intended to stem the flood of extraneous information with that simple phrase, Grenarin did not seem to realize and pounced on it with a level of curiosity that made his interest of a few moments ago look like boredom by comparison. His eyes sparkled as he bombarded her with questions.

"Your mother often wore fine clothes?"

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"Well, it was sort of expected of her . . ."

"Why? Was she rich? Was she famous? Was she noble?"

"Oh!" and Snow remembered the one detail she had somehow forgotten, since it was such a part of her life she could not imagine anyone not knowing it, "Yes, she was noble, she was the queen, actually."

Looking at Grenarin's expression, Snow was sure she could not have surprised him more if she had suddenly announced that everything she had just told him was a lie and in truth her father was the court jester and her mother was a whore.

After the moment of shock, Grenarin's face clouded over. He looked disturbed. There was a tense moment of silence, and Snow could feel the atmosphere of good cheer and general enjoyment slipping away to go join some other gathering.

"Would that make you the princess, then?" He asked with a calm that sounded forced even to her.

Snow blinked. That was his hangup? "Well, yes, except I'm not really welcome there anymore, so . . ."

He nodded. "Would 'there' be the kingdom to the south of the woods?"

Snow paused. If she was remembering correctly, there was actually woodland on two sides of the country, though one of them was the north. While not certain where exactly she was, it seemed reasonable that the answer was yes, as the palace was closer to the woods on the north than the east. "Yes."

Grenarin nodded again. "I see. Perhaps next time, start with that, eh?" He raised his eybrows and smiled good naturedly at her, and Snow felt the atmosphere lighten considerably.

"Shall we break for the midday meal while I decide where to start?" Grenarin still smiled, his eyes sparkling, and Snow agreed without hesitation. Together they walked back into the house.


	30. Interlude

Snow sat at the table, once more feeling knocked off balance by the unusual spread before her. The spread of cured meats and wine that she was expecting, was once more missing without any explanation. Instead, a shocking variety of fresh vegetables covered the table, chopped into bite sized pieces. Snow had been under the impression that there were only a few kinds of vegetables. Carrots, onions, cabbage, she thought there were probably a few more too, but was not prepared for the sheer variety present.

Bowls and Bowls overflowing with little treelike plants, bright red grape shaped things, at least three different varieties of leafy green stuff, mushrooms, purple roots, several varieties on long thin and green or yellow, and knobbly things that could have passed for red or yellow apples uncut – but cut looked like C's. There were even several different kinds of nuts. It was a staggering array of vegetables, and though there was more of the same dense bread served at breakfast, she was unsure how she was to eat it.

She copied Navormal as he made a large pile of the different vegetables on his plate, and then poured a thick creamy looking sauce over them. She did the same – and took a bite. She had no idea what was in that sauce – but it was incredible. She could barely even taste the vegetables underneath the incredible creamy flavor. She so enjoyed it so that she nearly forgot to eat some bread!

Once again, all present finished at the same moment, and once again a simple contentment wrapped around Snow. Once again, the moment passed.

In moments, her hosts had stood and left, so quickly Snow wondered if they had simply melted into the walls. Could anyone move that fast? A moment later, she realized that Grenarin had left too. She quickly stood to go join him again – assuming he had gone back to the garden.

However, upon reaching the spring they had sat beside for much of the morning, she found it deserted. Snow thought for a second.

Grenarin wanted to discover her abilities. He had purposefully left her alone. Perhaps he was trying to see if she could find him? It seemed worth a shot – and even if it wasn't what Grenarin wanted, it might tell her something too.

Snow closed her eyes and focused. She held her breath and listened. She could hear the spring bubbling behind her. She could hear bees buzzing off in the flowers. She listened harder – straining for something more. Suddenly, Snow heard a deep boom. It was so loud in the silence that Snow jumped in surprise – her eyes flying open.

It took a moment for her to realize that it was not loud after all, she had merely been listening too hard. For now that she was not so focused, she could still hear the sound, though now it was barely audible. As she purposely ignored it, the sound faded into silence. Unsure what she could be hearing, she began walking toward it.

She noted its steady rhythmic quality, how it beat twice before resting for a moment. As she approached, she also noticed quiet music, as if someone were humming. The sound was growing louder, and she turned another corner of the path only to see Blidarmd, kneeling over a bed of herbs.


	31. In the Garden

**Authors note:** _Hi all! So, I have moved into my college dorm, and will be resuming classes Tuesday. As a direct consequence, posting will slow down. I realize this isn't a high bar. But I will keep posting. Just. Slowly. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

Snow paused, uncertain whether she should leave Blidarmd to his gardening in peace, or whether she should attempt to converse.

The choice was quickly taken from her, as Blidarmd seemed to feel the weight of her stare and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his humming trailing off quickly, his eyes questioning her presence.

"ah, hello."

Blidarmd nodded in reply.

After a moment in which it became clear that Blidarmd was not going to say anything, Snow cleared her throat. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, I was just looking for Grenarin, have you seen him?"

After a moment during which Blidarmd gave no indication that he had even heard her, let alone that he was going to answer, Snow decided that this silent fae was not going to help her. She turned to go, and stopped abruptly.

"Grenarin has shut himself in his study. I doubt he will be rejoining us anytime today."

Snow turned around to see Blidarmd now standing at the edge of the flower bed, and once again scrutinizing her with his piercing eyes.

"Am I supposed to join him then?" Snow said, confused.

Blidarmd flashed a smile. "At your own risk, your highness."

Snow blinked. She could not recall a moment when Grenarin could have told the others of her title, yet clearly he must have had one if Blidarmd already knew of it. "What then, am I supposed to do?"

Blidarmd once more stood in silence, considering her. As if reaching a decision, he beckoned and without further hesitation, turned and set off down the path they were on in the opposite direction they had come from, scooping up a small wicker basket she had not noticed previously in the process.

After a brief moment of confusion, Snow hurried after him. She caught up to him by several large potato plants, fully grown. As soon as she was in sight, he turned and knelt beside them, gesturing for her to do the same.

She watched as he pushed a wooden gardening spade into the ground, and carefully lifted the right side of the plant out of the ground, exposing the potatoes. After a moment of him holding the plant and watching her, she realized she was expected to do something.

"Should I pick some?" Snow asked. He nodded. So Snow reached out and tugged a tuber off and set it in the basket. He was still holding it, so Snow continued picked a few more. After she had picked four, he gestured her back, and set the plant back into the ground.

Then he shifted toward another plant, and lifted its roots. They went through all eight plants in complete silence, despite the questions that Snow had. His lack of verbal communication made Snow uncomfortable speaking. As he set the final plant down Snow gave in and asked, "what will you do when these plants run out?"


	32. Quiet Magic

**Authors Note:** _So, in case you were wondering, I have planned out everything during the fae section of this fic, and basically, in one or two more posts its going to get exciting and we are FINALLY going to start exploring Snow's powers. I am psyched. I am also writing ahead quite a bit so that I can continue to post somewhat regularly even after school starts, so that is also good news. On a somewhat related note, these chapters are definitely getting longer, so you have that to look forward to as well. Yay! I am just full of good news today._

* * *

He smiled at her query, and turned and walked away. Snow jumped up and followed him, finally catching up to his long strides by the spring. He was holding two buckets, and had two more by his feet. She couldn't begin to fathom where he had found them. He handed the ones he was holding to her, then picked up the ones by his feet and filled them in the spring. Snow quickly followed suit, and followed him back to the potato plants and watered them, one bucket per plant. As soon as he had emptied his two buckets, he went back to the spring for a second trip. Snow did too.

When she finished watering the last plant, Snow turned and found Blidarmd watching her curiously.

"What." She asked, somewhat shortly. The amount of staring he had done was frankly appalling.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said simply, "Most refuse to join me." With that, he turned and walked away, straight through the plants, leaving the basket of potatoes behind. After a moment, Snow hiked up her skirts and followed, treading carefully to avoid the plants.

He stopped by the spring, and left his two buckets up against the tree she had fallen asleep under. Snow left her two beside his.

She followed him across much of the garden, and the plants began to look younger and less fruitful. Blidarmd did not once turn around, but he did wait for her once when she had to free herself from a thorny vine she had brushed against.

When he did stop finally she found him kneeling beside a much younger potato plant. He did not look behind him or acknowledge her, but he began to speak.

"This garden is organized by age. There are several potato plants spread over the garden, those eight were merely the oldest. These ones will be ready soon, but not soon enough. We do not have enough space to merely rely on time. It is my job to ensure they will be anyway."

As he was speaking, he carefully brushed his hand up every stem, carefully curling around it and cupping the leaves in his palm. As he did so, his palms and fingers shone with a soft light that seemed to curl protectively around the plants. As she watched, the plant visibly grew, its leaves deepening in color, stem stretching upward, and presumably, potatoes forming underground.

After a moment, he released the plant he was bent over and rested on his heels. "Magic is far more fertile than any concoction of man's" With that, his soft voice quieted once more, and he moved on to the next plant.

Snow went to squat carefully in front of Blidarmd, with the plant between them. "Will you show me?" she asked, matching his calm and quiet tone.

Blidarmd looked up suddenly from the plant he was working on. His expression was solemn. "I do not believe your magic can do this, your highness."

Snow paused. She knew very little about her magic, but if this fey who could bend plants to his will thought the ability was beyond her, she would believe him. For now, at least. "What should I do, then?"

He smiled. "These will need water."

Snow nodded and headed for the spring. As she walked past the potato plant, she noticed that the basket they had filled was gone.


	33. Thoughts in the Dark

**Authors Note:** _And, I'm back! Sorry about the wait. It is my general plan to post every Saturday, Hopefully not quite this late, but I offer no guarantee's about either. College is crazy, and I have homework out the wazoo. Basically, I will be posting every time I write, which should hopefully be every Saturday. If I know you are looking forward to it - I will be more likely to. Just sayin'._

* * *

The strange lights seemed dimmer this night. The music seemed higher and far more haunting than previously. Snow could not decide if it was simply the mood she was in, or if it was something more.

Blidarmd had spent hours carefully growing each plant one by one, in complete silence. Snow had watched him. He seemed to enjoy it. She had also listened to the pounding beat, that was always there when she looked for it, but seemed quiet and calm now.

It had sounded almost peaceful. As natural a part of the surroundings as the plants, the sky, or Blidarmd. Perfectly normal and expected. And though she had no practice pinpointing the origin of a sound, Snow could come to no other conclusion but that the beating was coming from Blidarmd, as it followed him wherever he went.

And yet, that seemingly simple fact led to a strange and startling conclusion. How else could that rhythmic beating be made, but by the beating of his heart? And yet, though it seemed the only option, she almost could not believe it, for if that was his heartbeat that she could hear, how, then, could she not hear his footsteps? For he moved silently and surely through the garden without the slightest of sounds.

Twilight had fallen. The sky turned to velvet and the stars began to arrive. As soon as the day left, Blidarmd stood and left, walking back toward the house. Snow had watched him leave, then turned toward the woods, waiting for the lights and sounds.

They were beautiful. But the longer Snow sat and watched the stranger she felt, as though her thoughts and wonderings were leading her places she did not wish to go but could not escape. She thought about how she could hear Blidarmd's heart, from so far away. She wondered what she was going to do once she was done learning. What should she do with such knowledge and power? What would she do? She did not know, and the lights and sounds seemed to pull her toward them.

Abruptly she stood and turned her back, walking just a little too quickly toward the house, leaving the unsettling lights behind her. As she entered the house, lit now with soft light from several glowing candles, Snow felt herself calm, her worrying thoughts stopped at the door and shut outside in the chilly air./p


	34. Waiting on Mystery

The scent of bread just baked was once more in the air, but for the first time it was accompanied by an additional scent, equally familiar to Snow. The scent of rich broth floated on the air, and Snow was unreasonably cheered that for once the meal would be food she recognized.

The customary spot for the missing Darion was empty, but all others sat still and unmoving, waiting at their seats with calm and patient faces. Snow joined them quickly, worried they had been waiting on her. It soon became apparent that they were waiting for something else, as they continued to sit in complete stillness.

Minutes crept by with impossible slowness, and Snow began to fidget. She could feel herself growing hungrier by the minute, and the enticing aroma's from the bread and soup must be classified as torture. After what felt like an eternity Snow turned to Navormal on her right to ask him when they would eat, but as she opened her mouth Navormal turned and looked at her with a burning intensity that seemed to pin her in place. Snow shut her mouth silently.

Time crawled on.

It darkened around them as twilight continued to fall, and then began to give way to night. Soon the several candles were the only light in the room. Snow began to wonder just how long it had been.

Snow was beginning to wonder if time had come to a complete stop. If, this single moment of waiting had lasted forever, and would last forever. If this single solemn moment had wrapped around her like a web around a fly, inescapable and endless.

The door opened. It did not open quickly or loudly. If anything, it was almost subtle. Yet in the stillness and silence it seemed as obvious as a cannon blast.

Darion stood in the doorway. He looked different now than he had in the brief moment she had seen him this morning. He was dressed the same, yet the difference could not be more clear. His bearing seemed calm and assured, unlike the embarrassment and fluster that he had exhibited this morning. He also felt of power, of the same kind that had so strongly affected her the previous night. Most interestingly, he stood tall and proud, and met Navormal's eyes.

The stillness seemed even deeper as they seemed to stare each other down. The atmosphere seemed heavy with deep power. After a long moment, they looked away in unison, and Navormal slipped into his seat. He instantly began to serve himself, and as soon as he had finished, the others followed suit.

Despite all that had happened today, Snow wondered at what had just occurred. It seemed the strangest of things. She determined to speak to Darion. Soon. Then allowed herself to be distracted by the food.


	35. Warning

The food was most worthy of attention. Though it was soup and bread, a common and delicious meal anywhere, it still managed to surprise her. The soup was light, with many tender vegetables and flavorful herbs floating in a warm broth. Once again, there was no meat to be found. She did, however, recognize the potatoes she and Blidarmd had picked earlier, as well as many other vegetables she was familiar with such as corn, squash, peas, beans and mushrooms, and a few she had never seen before but tasted wonderful. It was delicious, and she ate more than was probably wise.

When she came up for air, she was surprised to see the table half empty, with clean plates and empty cups. Though the room had the same stillness that was present during the previous meals, it felt different now, almost bored. She looked across the table, and saw Darion watching her silently. She met his eyes curiously. She felt as if she was looking into his eyes, past their color, and seeing – something. It was dark and cool, but not foreboding in the slightest. It felt, comfortable.

Redease rose from his seat and walked out of the room with a swift but silent grace. She realized his plate was empty. Were they leaving as soon as they were done? Should she leave? She looked up, and Darion was still watching her. He hasn't left. Snow returned his measured gaze and remained in her seat. If he has not left, she would stay. It was time she spoke with Darion, and if to do so she must wait for him to tire of this staring game, she would wait.

Whitaran was the last to finish, and he too rose from his seat. Instead of leaving, however, he looked at her for a moment, and stated, without the slightest acknowledgement of Darion, "Do not believe everything he speaks." Then he turned and swiftly left, almost as if he was afraid to stay.

Surprised and confused, Snow was left blinking after him when suddenly, Darion was in front of her, offering her his hand.


	36. Conversation Amid the Night

"Would you stroll with me?" His face and voice was mild, as if he had not heard what Whitaran had said.

"Of course," Snow said slowly, and she took his hand and allowed him to lead her out the door and into the garden.

The night was dark, despite the bright moon, and the lights in the trees had stopped. As they walked through the garden, Snow tried to gather her thoughts. She had many questions, but wanted to be sure to start with the right one.

After several minutes, Snow realized that they were once more beside the spring. They stopped walking and stood before it.

"I saw you last night." Darion was speaking softly, and his voice seemed to harmonize with the night sounds around them. "I spent more time than I should have trying to determine why you are."

That – was an odd turn of phrase. "Why I am?" Snow enquired.

"It seemed so strange and unreal that someone as you are should be here, let alone have the strange sort of un-life you posses." Snow blinked again in confusion. Unlife?

"By the time I informed Navormal, well, I had very little time left to complete my duties. I apologize for my lack of hospitality."

Seeing her chance – Snow took it. "Is that why Navormal disapproved of your entrance this morning?"

Darion looked at her, thoughtfully measuring her. Finally, he answered, "Navormal disapproves of a great deal of my actions that I cannot cease. Some habits die hard." His tone did not invite further questions, but Snow could not resist.

"If you have habits that Navormal disagrees with, why do you stay here? Why do you allow him to scold you so? I have felt your power last night, at felt it again this night, as you entered dinner."

Darion smiled at her thoughtfully. He seemed pleased by her question. "Did you not hear Whitaran say that I am not to be trusted?" Snow blinked, unsure of how to respond to that question.

"He said not to believe everything you said, not that you couldn't be trusted."

Darion frowned. "that is a fine distinction."

"Nonetheless . . ." Snow prevailed.

"I am afraid that question must wait for another time." Darion said quietly, "Already it grows dark and I have work enough to do."

Before she could protest, Darion had slipped behind her and begun walking back the way they came. By the time she had turned around, he had somehow managed to vanish into the darkness, leaving not even the softest sounds of footsteps in his wake.

Snow walked back to the house alone.


	37. Fruits of the Tailor

Her room was brightly lit with many glowing candles. The dirty strip of fabric she had ripped from her underdress this morning, as well as her entire overdress, were missing. The washwater had been replaced, and was once again crystal clear, and the washtowel was clean, soft, and dry. The bed looked comfortable and welcoming, and the lateness of the hour finally made itself known to her.

She removed her improvised outfit and moved toward the wardrobe, not wishing for it too to go missing. However, when she opened the wardrobe, she was shocked by the sight that greeted her. While the wardrobe was not particularly large, it was full with bright, bold colors.

She dropped the underdress she had been wearing which suddenly seemed boring and dirty, and ran her hands gently across the dresses before her. Impulsively, she pulled a brilliant green one out to look at. It was simple, bodice pieced in six parts and skirt in two. The sleeves were long, but lacked the laces that indicated they were to be laced tightly to the skin. The neckline was wide, but high enough that none could call it improper. The subtlest of embroidery, just a few shades off from the dresses color, wrapped around the waist. In short, if not for the rich color and fine fabric, it would look unremarkable and normal. Holding it up against her, it looked as if it would fit perfectly.

Snow set it back in the wardrobe and cast her eye at the dozen or so dresses that filled it. How had anyone sown so many so quickly? It was impossible. Her eyes lit on the few drawers up the side. It seemed impossible that there was more, but then again, if one impossible thing was already done, is it so hard to think that another might be as well?

In the top drawer was the strangest corset Snow had ever seen, lighter, more flexible, and a few inches shorter than even the most casual design. Underneath it, and of the same smooth material, were shorts, except these were shorter even than what she had seen the farmers wearing during the harvest, and were clearly meant to be worn far more snugly on the skin. Her curiosity was piqued, but she returned them to the drawer and determined to experiment tomorrow.

The next drawers contents were of a far more immediate benefit, as it contained what could only be a nightdress in a cool lavender, though once again far lighter and softer than any she had seen. She donned it, and opened the remaining drawers. They were empty.

She considered the underdress she had worn today, and though she couldn't see herself wearing it, hung it up anyway. Better safe than sorry. With that, she blew out the candles, and slipped beneath the covers.


	38. Workshop

**_Authors Note:_** _Apologies for not posting last Saturday, I had written nearly everything I was going to post, and then the computer deleted it all. And I was too angry to re-write it. But, here it is now, better late than never._

* * *

Snow had deliberated for far too long this morning before ending up picking the brilliant green dress she had admired last night. Out of curiosity she had donned the different corset, and out of necessity the pair of shorts – after she realized there were no other undergarments present. The short, light, and loose corset felt horribly revealing, even though she could see that it showed only the slightest difference. Likewise, the lack of an underskirt swirling about her ankles made her feel underdressed and half naked, despite the fact that once again she could tell no visible difference.

On the other hand, the dress itself felt wonderful. Due to the lack of other material between her skin and its fabric, she could feel its softness. In addition – its loose but shaped construction managed to both flatter her figure and yet hide enough that she felt much less naked after donning it. The loose sleeves alone felt downright freeing. It was new and strange, and she wasn't sure she liked all of it – but by the time breakfast was over she felt far less stiff and exposed.

As the group broke up, Grenarin beckoned to her, and promptly disappeared around the corner and further into the house – visibly bouncing with excitement. Snow followed him into the first room in the house she had seen that did not contain a large window. On the wall directly opposite the door was a large flat piece of grey slate. Along the floor underneath it was a wooden step that appeared to do double duty as a desk, as there were many papers upon it. It also held a small basked of chunks of the whitest rock snow had seen – which was clearly used to write upon the black slate wall. Nearly half of it was taken up with a large circle complete with the math required to determine the correct runes. The other bit was dedicated to a long paragraph of unfamiliar writing, broken often by yet more equations. When she entered, Grenarin was busying himself transcribing the circle illuminated on the wall onto the ground with a flat black paint.

Knowing he would be at it for some time, Snow turned her attention to the other walls of the room, all of which, as it turned out, were covered in shelving. Well used shelving, filled to the edge with more books than she had seen anywhere outside the royal library, open topped containers of woods and metals full of many of the herbs she had seen in the garden, small but beautiful scales, jars, and bowls, a large collection of brilliant paints and dyes – including a white that seemed to be the color of the floor, and in the clear place of honor, an elegant pen made from a truly imposing feather for both its size and complete blackness – balancing perfectly on its tip in the center of a piece of parchment.


	39. Cumhachd

Curious, she walked up toward it. The top half of the sheet was covered in what looked like the same script on the whiteboard, but clearly written by two different people, as the style was visibly different in several places.

"Don't touch that!" Snow jumped in surprise, as she turned and saw Grenarin smiling at her cheerfully, though his eyes were serious.

"Sorry," Snow said, feeling rather embarrassed, "I didn't mean to intrude".

Grenarin looked at her for a moment, and then appeared to accept her apology, and beckoned her into the center of the circle he had painted on the floor.

"What do you know about Cumhachd?" he asked expectantly.

Snow blinked. "What do I know about what?"

"Surely you know something! Cumhachd, the Power." Snow was still confused. "Ah, that's right, you call it something different. Hmm." He mumbled to himself for a moment. "Magic! Yes?"

Snow nodded. "So what do you know about magic?" Snow was suddenly uncomfortable. She knew very little about magic, though she had a general desire to learn about it, a combination of several factors had stopped her from ever really trying to. Among them were compelling reasons including active discouragement on the part of her father, general dislike and distrust toward her stepmother – the most prominent magic user she was in contact with, and the fact that it had killed her mother.

But there was no point avoiding the facts, and so she admitted her ignorance. Grenarin looked shocked.

"You don't know, anything? How could you possibly . . ." he trailed off, looking utterly confused.

"Well, then, I suppose I should teach you the basics before we get any further."

"Are you sure," Snow asked cautiously, "As long as you can tell me what's going on I don't really need to understand, and it is rather complicated-" but at that Grenarin cut her off.

"Complicated! Nonsense. Cumhachd is elegant in its simplicity. Though complex to put into practice it is simplicity itself to understand. What have mortals been doing all this time? No, I suppose we will have to start at the beginning."

He wiped away the writing on the left half of the dark slate and turned to face her. "Every action has a consequence. If I go out and chop down the fruit trees, I will not have fruit to eat. If I were to leave my books outside, they would become ruined. Likewise, If I spend many hours practicing a skill, I will become good at it. Every action has consequences inherent to the action. I can choose my actions, but I cannot choose my consequences. It is the same with Cumhachd. More Power to act creates more choices for my action, but it cannot change the consequences of them. So be sure to choose wisely."

Snow nodded.

Grenarin turned back toward the board. "Now we may begin talking of magic."


	40. Aspect

_**Author's Note:** Hello again! So, this chapter is basically a long explanation of the magic system of this universe. It was a really great feeling to finally get it all on paper, and I am super proud of the result. The next two chapters will also be about the magic system, with the next chapter being a demonstration of how one would do magic, and the second being a more specific discussion of an application of this. After that we will move back toward the plot. I am super excited to finally share the coolest part of this world with you guys, and so if you are confused at any point, PLEASE drop me a review with your question and I would LOVE to answer it. Seriously, there are few things I enjoy more than explaining my magic system to people. This is what I do for fun. (Obviously, since I am on here, voluntarily posting this . . .) Also, you will help alleviate other peoples confusion, since I will be sure to post the answers and questions in the authors notes next chapter. Anyway, please enjoy, and see you next week!_

* * *

Grenarin drew a circle on the board, which he divided into three.

"Everything everywhere possesses three aspects. Each of these aspects can be altered through magic, with incredible effects."

He then drew a single rune in the top left third.

"The first is the simple what. What is a rock? What is it made of? How does it behave? How difficult is it to change? This can be altered and used by Tha – the first area of Cumhachd. With this kind of magic, you can imbue objects and living creatures with properties it does not possess. With this you can run faster, heal quicker, or jump farther. More powerful and difficult uses can allow you to change the appearance of something, make hard ground soft like a pillow, even transmute objects into other things. However – this magic, though fairly easy to understand, is limited by the properties of the objects you have available – as well as their innate power. Because of this, most of these effects are short-lived, rarely lasting more than an hour or two."

"So, it's simple to learn, but not very impressive?" Snow said.

"Yes. Most people have knowledge of a practical trick or two, an herb that halts spoilage, or some such thing." Grenarin seemed turned back to the board and drew three runes in the top right third of the circle.

"The second kind of magic is dependent on the where. Though the world appears chaotic and unpredictable, no thing just happened to be where it is. The world is ordered by simple rules – such as things fall to the earth – and with these simple rules everything has ended up where it is now. This order can be added to through placement of lines and shapes and words, and thereby change the placement of things. This kind of magic – called Ionad - can locate lost objects, create fire or other objects from thin air, remove arrows in flight, create impassable barriers, or even transport large quantities of objects, animals, or people long distances in a moment. Because these effects are created by adding objects and order to a certain spot – they can last as long as they are left undisturbed. However – to properly create even a simple location spell is difficult and requires specific knowledge, and the resulting spell would only be effective in locating that one lost object."

"So, unlike Tha, Ionad is mostly limited to scholars and such?" Snow asked.

"Yes" Grenarin said. He seemed pleased. He turned back to the board and drew a single rune in the bottom, and final, third of the circle.

"The final magic is the magic of intent. Each living creature acts with purpose in mind – and their intent is a kind of power that can be channeled and used – or taken advantage of. I know little about Rùn, save that it has great power and is a favorite of the unscrupulous to read minds, control animals, create non-living constructs or animate dead creatures, to drain the innate power from another, and sometimes even to bind people – turning them into mere puppets."

"So Rùn is evil?" Snow clarified.

"Absolutely not." Grenarin replied solemnly, "Magic is a tool, much like a sword or a shield, it itself cannot be either good or evil, only those that use it may be. However, it does seem to attract the unscrupulous in a way that the other two don't, perhaps because it requires no special knowledge, merely willpower and a valuable object."

Snow nodded. "We are using Ionad, right?" She gestured to the complex diagram Grenarin had drawn on the ground.

"An excellent observation!" Grenarin exclaimed, "however, the answer is complicated and I am afraid you are not entirely correct."


	41. Ritual

_**Author's Note:** Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers! I am American, and so next Saturday will be part of my thanksgiving break. Because of this, one of three things will happen: a) I will give you an extra post or two because I don't have to do homework and therefore have more time to write, b) I will post my normal amount and work ahead a bit more, c) I will not post at all because I will be too busy partying with my real-life friends. I figured I should give you guys a heads up just in case it turns out to be option c). _

* * *

"Cumhachd is a whole, and each section is a part. To limit yourself to only one area is self-limiting. We are using mostly Tha, after all, we wish to determine your what, but we are using a bit of Ionad in order to more easily understand our results."

"Alright." Snow said, "what should I do?"

"Hold this." Grenarin handed her a wooden bowl that was filled nearly to the brim with water, a herb Snow was certain she had seen in the garden yesterday, and what appeared to be a full deck of cards. He set a wooden spoon down inside the circle. Then he took one of the containers that she had noticed earlier off its shelf and walked around the circle, dribbling the liquid to create an unbroken circle just outside of the drawn one. The liquid appeared clear like water, but was far too thick.

As soon as he had replaced the container of liquid upon the shelf he bounced up cheerily. "Alright. So, the idea is that each one of those cards corresponds to a different trait your condition may offer you. That is what the circle is for – it lays out which one is which. You are going to drop a hair into the bowl, and stir it clockwise until all of the herbs are used. Then you are going to dump it out on the floor. The mixture in the bowl I designed yesterday will determine the what that is in your hair, and the circle will change the placement of the cards based on what they determined. Does that make sense?"

He was visibly bouncing with excitement, and Snow could not help but ask, "did you come up with all this yourself?"

Grenarin smiled cheerfully. "There is no instruction book for what we are trying to learn, your highness. If one doesn't make it up themselves, it will not occur. When you are ready."

Snow carefully pulled one of her hairs out, and dropped it in the bowl. Then she picked up the spoon, and began stirring. Sure enough, though she never saw the herb vanish, they depleted quickly, until she was pretty sure that the only things floating in the liquid were the cards. She paused for a moment, as it was very against her nature to dump large bowls of anything on the floor, and then quickly upended it, tossing it away from her so as not to wet her dress, but being careful to keep it inside the circle as she was not sure if that would disrupt the spell.

The ace of spades landed face up directly in front of her. Every other card was face down.

"That looks pretty magical." Snow said, looking up to smile at Grenarin. Grenarin, however, was not looking at her. Instead, he appeared frozen in shock, staring at the solitary ace of spades.

"What does it mean?" Snow asked, suddenly concerned.

There was a pause, and Grenarin shook himself out of his stupor. "It means, your highness, that a hole has been filled."

"What?" Snow asked, confused.

"It is a somewhat complicated explanation, let us clean up and then I will explain."

Snow would rather know now, she had been waiting for quite some time after all, but one look at Grenarin's expression was all it took for her to realize that she was not getting anything out of him until the floor was clean. So she got to it.


	42. Explanation

"What do you know of the faol-duine?" After the room was clean, Snow and Grenarin had sat themselves on the low bench beside the slate, and Grenarin was leaning in with a secretive air.

"Faol-duine?" Snow repeated, fairly certain that she had never heard of them. "Is it possible that we call them something different?"

Grenarin shook his head. "You first learned of their existence from us, you have no separate name for them. Have you truly never heard of them?"

Snow shook her head. "I was deliberately isolated from magic, except when my step-mother didn't want me to be." Snow realized suddenly that just a little knowledge learned earlier would have been immensely useful now. She felt a bit chagrined remembering how little she had tried to obtain some.

Grenarin peered at her skeptically but continued. "a faol-duine is a man who can become a beast. They have mastered the art of Tha, and can change their shape at will, though most only have one additional form. Much like Tha is practiced by most everyone, anyone can become a faol-duine through contact with one. Their strange ability to alter their Tha at will is easily transmissible through small injuries. They retain their human intelligence and wisdom while in their other form, though on the night of the full moon all but the most experienced become wild and unpredictable. They prefer to live together in groups, often called packs because of the most common of the alternate forms: a wolf."

Snow nodded. "what does this have to do with me?"

Grenarin chuckled. "Patience. Fey are creatures of Ionad. Much about our power is accessed through the where. Particularly, where we are born determines much about us, the time, place, objects around us, everything makes a difference. In particular, since life has such innate power, the people, animals, and plants around us at all times have a significant impact on our abilities. We have deliberately created ourselves to be creatures ruled by the environment around us, and through that become powerful."

Snow thought. "If you created yourself through careful placement of your surroundings – does that mean a human could become fey?"

Geranin thought for a moment. "No, at least, not an individual. You see, the effect of our environment is cumulative. My abilities are the sum of the changes made in myself, and my mother, and her mother, and so on. My family have been scholars of magic for as long as we have been. A human could not live long enough to accumulate enough changes to be noticeably different. Even individual fey do not live that long," He paused for a moment, as if weighing what he was going to say next, "however, it is a theory, among some scholars, that once, a long time ago, fey were human. They changed themselves into what we are now." He looked at her very seriously for a moment, and then quickly added, "that's nonsense of course. The very idea that fey were once human is scandalous".

Snow looked at him slyly for a moment. She was pretty sure he did not think that idea was as nonsensical as he claimed. Nonetheless, she returned the topic to what she still wanted to know, "and how does this relate to me?"

Grenarin smiled. "Well, there is not creature that embodies Rùn. At least, there was not. Now, there is." He then gestured at her with the Ace of Spades she hadn't noticed he was holding.

Snow had no response. It made a strange kind of sense. After all, Rùn was the magic of using other's power to create incredible effects, and she drank others blood to survive. He seemed quite excited at the revelation. Snow was not feeling quite so enthusiastic.


	43. In the Kitchen

Snow had followed Grenarin out of the room without really thinking about it. She was still reeling from the information he had just dropped on her, and wasn't really present. Nonetheless, she did notice when she followed him into a kitchen.

Like the other rooms of the house, it was bright and windowed. Unlike the rest of the house, however, it felt quite homey and warm and welcoming. Snow admitted that a good portion of that was probably due to the smell of baking bread, but the warm brickwork and burnished brass cooking utensils also helped.

Redease was standing against one of the counters with his back turned to them. Looking closer, she realized that he was in the process of cutting long green tubes impossibly small with a shockingly large knife. Wondering what they were doing there, Snow turned to look at Grenarin, only to realize that he had left the room in the brief moment she had been admiring it without her noticing. Which was surprising, as he had all but bounced all the way here, she must have been more distracted than she had thought.

It did however, leave her unsure of why exactly she was here. However, Redease saved her from having to ask, yet again, what was going on before she could figure out how to break the silence.

"Don't just stand there. Those tomatoes aren't going to chop themselves." He then gestured with the knifeless hand toward a small bucket that looked identical to the one she had filled with potatoes yesterday - except a bit smaller.

Despite being disappointed by his brusque manner, Snow walked over to the bucket to find it full to just below the brim with the bright red spheres she associated with the word tomatoes, but these ones were easily the largest she had ever seen, each one around the size of a chicken egg.

There were, however, no knives or cutting boards. So Snow started looking for some. The knife block was easily found, and though she had never cut vegetables before she picked out the most likely looking one. The cutting boards were a little more elusive. None were out on the counters. They were not on the open shelves next to the pots and pans. They were not among the flat baking sheets. They were not hiding by the several bundles of herbs hanging to dry. She turned to ask Redease where she might find one, but as she turned toward him she realized that he was watching her. Snow met his eyes. They were challenging.

Fine. If he is trying to test me, then I will succeed. She turned away from him and began working her way around the kitchen, checking in every cupboard. About two thirds of the way around, she finally found them, inside a cupboard that was full of an array of the spices that she had seen drying, though these appeared to be dry.

She victoriously slid one out, and as she brought it over to the bucket of tomatoes, she glanced at Redease out of the corner of her eye. He had gone back to ignoring her.

Upset, though not sure why exactly, Snow began taking her frustration out on the tomatoes as she chopped them into little cubes.


	44. A Locked Door

Just as she was finishing chopping the tomatoes into submission, a bucket was plunked down on the counter beside her. Snow had been entirely inside her head, trying to determine why she was so upset by Redease's brusque manner, so the sudden noise surprised her. So much in fact, that the well sharpened knife she was using slipped, and she cut herself.

"Oh!" She dropped the knife instinctively onto the cutting board and grabbed her injured hand. The cut was not particularly deep or large, but it was disconcerting to see her blood welling up.

Without even turning around, Redease said, "tomatoes in bowl. Then the onions." Snow looked up, and saw that on top of the bucket he had plunked down was a moderately sized bowl, and that underneath it were several large white onions – once again larger than any she had seen. She turned around angrily – he had just made her cut herself! – but he had already gone back to ignoring her, standing as far away from her as possible while still being in the kitchen and focused intently on his cutting board.

Snow's temper flared. "If you think I can't tell where I am not wanted you are either terribly misinformed or willfully ignorant. You chop the vegetables – I'll leave your precious kitchen in peace."

With that, she turned and stomped out of the kitchen, still holding her cut hand.

The door slammed shut behind her and she steamed all the way down the hall, feeling angry and confused. And hurt. She wasn't sure why she felt hurt, someone not wanting her present wasn't exactly news, and so she focused on angry and confused. After all, what had she ever done to him?

After fuming down one hallway, through a room with musical instruments, around a corner and past a set of stairs down, it occurred to her that she had never been in this part of the house before. She eyed the stairs down curiously. Where did they go?

It would not be a good idea to make her hosts angry. Logically she knew that. However, she was a guest. She had never been told that anyplace was off-limits. And she was still a bit angry. She turned and walked down the stairs, though more calmly.

At the bottom of the steps she turned a corner and saw a door. A thick, heavy door. With iron reinforcements. And bars. And a lock. On the outside. She paused. The key ring was hanging on the wall directly at the bottom of the stairs, out of sight of the door. The only light was coming from up the stairs behind her.

She realized that she should not be here, she knew she should not go any further, despite having never been told not to come here. She knew she should leave. But she was so, so curious. What on earth would a group of fae keep in a locked basement? She stood there, torn for a long moment, but she remembered the cut on her hand, and that was the tipping point.

She stuck the cut in her mouth to keep it from dripping, and walked thoughtfully back up the stairs. Though she deliberately wandered away, her thoughts were still on the door. She decided that perhaps later, she just might come back.


	45. Brooding

_**Authors Note:** *rises from the grave to a standing position directly from a laying position like a vampire* Hello my readers, I am back! In case you were wondering, the first week of winter semester went fabulous, and I got a 90 on my first test of the semester! In other good news, we should officially be back to the every-Saturday-posting-schedule. Also, I thought you might want to know, that with this chapter we have now reached more than 20,000 words - not counting Authors notes. I think that's pretty cool._

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Back to feeling grumpy, Snow retraced her steps back toward her room so she could wash her cut. She realized, now, that Redease had upset her because she was still reeling over the shock of what Grenarin had told her earlier. She told herself quite firmly that Redease would not be able to rile her up so easily again. She had more self control than that, thank you very much.

Upon reaching her room she stood in front of the mirror above the washbin, and took the cut out of her mouth. She couldn't see it. She frowned and checked the underside of her hand – not really expecting to find anything, more of an automatic reaction. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing there. It occurred to her that she could not feel the cut either. It appeared to have healed itself in the minute or two it took her to travel across the house. Reflexively, she checked the other side again. Finally, because doing nothing seemed wrong – she washed her hands in the basin.

Then she slowly sat back onto the bed, in an attempt to reconcile yet another surprising piece of information. At the rate she was going she would learn a dozen shocking things before lunch! She sat thus for several minutes – brain whirring away and looking out the window, without really seeing it. Finally, however, the continual tink-ing sounds from outside pulled her out of her reverie, and she stood up to get a better look out the window.

It was Whitaran and Navormal, out on the front lawn, unmistakably practicing swordplay. Snow knew little about swordplay. Everything she did know came from watching her older brothers and father without them realizing. She always thought it was like a dance, two people responding to each others actions, except that a swordfight was deadly. It always seemed more interesting to her than the waltzes she had to learn. She also thought it was better to watch. A contest of skill inspires far more effort than an exhibition of accomplishment. It was such a shame there were so few contests of arms compared to the sheer number of parties she was expected to attend.

That said – though she could not say what makes a sword master, she could tell when two masters were dueling each other. They had a rhythmic back and forth that novices didn't. When the rhythm fell apart, that is when one would win. As Snow watched Whitaran and Navormal in their swordplay, she could see their rhythm, but something still seemed off. As she watched, the sun caught on one of their swords, and she realized it looked too short. Noticing that and watching closer – she thought (wasn't sure – mind you) that they weren't wielding them the same way that her brothers did.

She tried to pin down what they were doing differently, but it kept eluding her. Suddenly, the rhythm vanished so quickly it was visually jarring, and Navormal went one way, and his sword the other. Whitaran advanced toward Navormal, holding his sword in such a way that for just a moment it seemed as though he was going to plunge it into him. Instead, Whitaran sunk gracefully onto one knee while planting his sword into the ground. Navormal stood up, brushed himself off, and without a backward glance, walked back toward the house, leaving his sword in the grass.

Whitaran stood. Though he was far enough away that Snow couldn't have seen his face – even if he had been looking at her, he still looked tense. Snow suddenly had a thought. She had always wanted to learn swordplay. There was a sword master with an extra sword just standing there. It couldn't hurt to try. Snow turned from the window and dashed down the stairs, slowing to a quick trot as she exited the house and headed toward Whitaran in the middle of the lawn.


	46. Contract

_**Authors Note:** Wow! What an early post! Its barely past lunchtime! What's the special occasion? I'm glad you asked random citizen. Yesterday was my sisters birthday, and this is her present! An extra chapter today. One right now, and one around the usual time I post. Happy Birthday Sis!_

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"Your highness." Whitaran nodded to her respectfully as Snow approached him.

"Lord Whitaran" Snow greeted him, unsure if he was really a Lord, but erring on the side of caution. He certainly behaved like one. "Your swordsmanship is impressive."

Whitaran quirked an eyebrow. "Thank you, your highness. I did not see you watching."

Snow smiled, "My room has an excellent view." She gestured back toward the house generally.

"I see." He eyed her warily, and Snow realized that he knew she was about to ask him for something. I guess he really is nobility.

"I have often admired the art of the sword," Snow began, watching him carefully, "but have never had a chance to gain any knowledge of it." Snow was pretty sure Whitaran already knew what she was going to ask – as he had furrowed his brow and was critically sizing her up. Nonetheless, it was best to set terms of a contract out explicitly – especially when fae were involved. "I was wondering if you would provide me the service of giving me some basic instruction in it in return for something you wish help with?"

There was a moment of silence as Whitaran continued to size her up, and then, "I would enjoy such an opportunity to teach an eager student the blade." He smiled and continued, "And there is a task I absolutely despise – are you capable with arithmetic?"

Snow informed him that she was – though her education had been lacking in both magic and swordplay, it had been fairly thorough everywhere else.

"Well then, lets start with that today, and tomorrow we will begin working with the sword – after all, there is not much time left today to do so."

Seeing his reasoning, Snow followed him back into the house, and into the room next door to the office she had spoken to Navormal in. It appeared much like its neighbor, with obvious office properties. The main difference was that this office appeared far more used than Navormal's. There was a ledger out on the desk, papers in an inbox, and a few fingers of an amber liquid in a tumbler on the desk. The open wall was adorned with hundreds of pressed flowers. A small reading nook was tucked into the bookshelves with a cozy armchair and a book lying open. It was by no means disorderly, but the clear personality exuded made Navormal's office feel sterile by comparison.

Whitaran waved her over to the desk and indicated that she should sit at it. Snow did, hesitantly. It felt a bit like an invasion of privacy, but clearly Whitaran wanted her there, so she tried to ignore the feeling.

Whitaran leaned over the desk and pointed at a small jumbled stack of paper scraps, each of which had a minimum of three words written on it, but there were several with much more. "I am responsible for keeping track of expenses incurred by the Seelie fae in the surrounding areas. Just write the name of the person here in column one, what it was for in column two, and the cost in column three. If you are unsure about something, go ahead and ask me." With that, he settled himself in the reading nook, and picked up the book that had been waiting invitingly on the table.

Snow began on the ledger. She was familiar with them, as evidentially keeping track of expenses was something that her father deemed it important for her to learn. Her familiarity warned her it was going to be rather boring. And it was a bit repetitive, but also surprisingly intriguing. Evidentially, a fae by the name of Ailish had payed "2 dreams" for something called "Everlight". That she had no idea what had been bought was frustrating, but the fact that somehow the payment was a dream was interesting.

As she continued down the ledger, she found that some people did appear to pay with money – though not a kind she recognized – others payed in something else, such as years, songs, promises, cumhachd, hope, and once, most intriguingly in "three true lies" for "services rendered"

Whitaran tapped her on the shoulder. Snow nearly jumped, she had been surprisingly engrossed. He looked amused, "I believe it is time for lunch."


	47. Exploration

Lunch passed quickly, as Snow was engrossed in her thoughts. She realized that she had, in fact, learned nearly a dozen shocking things by lunch. In addition to her discovery with Grenarin, the locked basement, and the healed palm, she could now add the interaction between Whitaran and Navormal she had witnessed, and all the interesting tidbits she had found doing the ledger work. Really, it was no surprise she had a lot to think about.

As lunch broke up, Snow followed Grenarin out of the room. As soon as he realized that he was being followed, he turned around. He paused, and said, rather apologetically, "I don't believe we will be able to continue today. I have requested the use of some books concerning Rùn, but until they arrive, and I have a chance to read them, there is not much we can accomplish."

"Oh." Snow was disappointed. Just when they were finally getting somewhere, they hit another roadblock. "About how long will that take?"

Grenarin smiled knowingly. "It depends on how soon the request is approved. No sooner than tomorrow afternoon, but it could be – ah – much longer."

From the way Grenarin said "much longer" Snow had the feeling that what he really meant to say was "never". Which was not encouraging. "Well, in that case, I suppose I will let you alone." Plastering on a pleasant expression and ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach, she turned and walked away.

After a few minutes of frustrated pacing through the house, she abruptly decided that she might as well go exploring – she had been here for a day and a half, it was about time she took a good look around. Unfortunately, as soon as she had made the decision, she was immediately reminded of the locked basement she had found earlier, and with it the desire to go back and investigate.

She resisted quite valiantly. She managed a full half hour of avoiding the basement. She wound her way up a cramped spiral staircase and examining the stained glass window set into its walls. She walked around the humid and fragrant greenhouse and smelled flowers that she had never seen before. She slipped into a room on the ground floor filled with weapons and armor, she lifted a few of the swords and were surprised by their lightness, she traced her fingers across a few breastplates and marveled at the fine metalworking that created such delicate detailing. She peeked into bedroom after bedroom that looked just like hers all in a row along the upper walk. She skipped the ones before hers, she was pretty sure her hosts slept there, and that felt too much like an invasion of privacy. She waltzed with an imaginary gentleman for a full minute directly under the gorgeous glass 5-tiered candelabra in the center of the ballroom – that seemed to shine despite the fact that it was unlit. She even walked back down to the garden and attempted to find a path she hadn't walked down yet – unsuccessfully.

Eventually, however, despite all intentions to the contrary, she found herself walking out of the music room she had found earlier and down the hallway toward the basement stairs. The half hour of resisting her curiosity had only made it stronger, and it drew her down the stairs like an irresistible force, until once again she was standing in front of the locked door.


	48. Listening

_**Author's Note:**_ _Sorry about the lack of update last week, RL caught up and I spent an unnecessary amount of time doing some research for a later chapter, and so I didn't actually get anything written. On the other hand, the next few chapters are (hopefully) going to be far more awesome than this one (which I realize is kind of disappointing) and hopefully on time. I considered posting a preview, but decided against. The chapters are short enough that any meaningful preview would spoil the punchline, so you are just going to have to wait a week. See you then!_

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Snow was not willing to unlock the door right off the bat. Despite the fierce curiosity that had taken her, she had not abandoned all common sense. Unfortunately, that meant she was trapped on the outside of the door, with no way to tell what was beyond it.

She tried getting down on her hands and knees to try and peek underneath the door through the crack where the floor and the door met, but was unable to see anything. The door was fitted well, but she wasn't sure if the tightness of the crack or complete darkness in the room beyond thwarted her.

Feeling pessimistic about her chances but unwilling to give up just yet, Snow then attempted to peek through the cracks in the side of the door, particularly by the hinges. As she expected, the door was fitted to tightly to allow anything through – though she felt compelled to spend several minutes verifying the fact.

In frustration, She pressed her ear up against the door, again, not really expecting to hear anything, but feeling the need to try. She closed her eyes and strained her ears, hoping to catch even the slightest sound. Just as she was about to give up, she heard it. The same thumping sound she had determined was a heartbeat yesterday with Blidarmd. Unfortunately, it startled her so that she jumped in surprise, and lost focus.

Re-hearing the heartbeat proved to be surprisingly difficult, almost like it was trying to hide from her now that it knew she was trying to listen to it. However, after an excruciatingly frustrating amount of time in which Snow began to wonder if she had imagined it entirely, Snow finally heard it again. interestingly, after listening to it, she determined that it was actually two heartbeats, just out of sync. After another few minutes of listening, and of trying to remember what Blidarmd's heartbeat had sounded like, she reached a somewhat shaky conclusion that the heartbeats belonged to two people, not animals.

However, that raised another question, she had been here listening at the door for more than fifteen minutes, and she hadn't heard a single movement. Maybe they were sleeping? Except that doesn't sleeping lower your heartrate? So maybe they were small animals that only had a slow heartrate because they were sleeping? But that meant that if they were people they were probably awake. But if they were awake, why weren't they moving?

She suddenly wanted to whisper through the door. But she paused – she was determined not to make any stupid mistakes, and so spent several minutes arguing with herself about the pro's and con's to trying to set up a dialogue with whoever was on the other side of the door, assuming she even could.

However, before she had reached any sort of conclusion, she heard the soft sort of rustling that meant movement, and it proved to be the catalyst that pushed her into action.

"Who are you?" She said it in a stage whisper – hoping to penetrate the door but not attract attention from others. It still sounded like a shout in the complete silence she had been listening to.

There was no response. The rustling stopped. In fact, even the heartbeats that she had been listening to seemed to fade into silence.

"I'm just curious!" Snow said quickly, "I'm not trying to trick you." Despite the seeming impossibility of it, the silence only deepened.

Fishing for any kind of response, Snow added, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

The atmosphere thickened and darkened. It felt like the inside of a tomb. Snow hesitated. Now what do I say?

She put her ear back against the door, but no matter how hard she listened, she couldn't hear either heartbeat.

Finally and suddenly she gave up. Jerking to her feet with an audible huff, fixing the door with the best glare in her arsenal, and then whirling and stomping up the stairs in frustration. She was going to find out who was on the other side of that door – and no-one was going to stop her.


	49. A Night Stroll

The afternoon had been long and boring. She had attempted to resume her exploration of the house, but had lacked the curiosity to make it interesting. She had quickly given up, and gone back to the music room in an attempt to interest herself in music. After distractedly picking out a few tunes on the pianoforte, she determined that not even music could hold her attention. She considered wandering out into the garden, but remembered that Blidarmd would be working there. She considered heading over to Whitaran's study to get him to start teaching her swordplay, now; but decided against it, he probably had other work to do and she would win no favors by pestering him. Finally, she ended up in the library, trying to interest herself in one of the many books available. She didn't really succeed – and the nearly five and a half hours to dinner seemed to stretch on for forever.

The nightly ritual of waiting for Darion to show up was nearly as unbearable, and Snow lingered for far longer than she normally did over the food, putting off the looming boredom she was sure was coming. She needn't have bothered. The moment she stood, Darion stood too.

"Do you wish to accompany me tonight, your highness?"

"I would be thrilled." Snow replied with complete honesty.

They set off together across the lawn and toward the forest. The night was surprisingly warm for it still being early spring, which was good, as Snow had brought neither a cloak nor gloves.

"Grenarin informed me that you were a daughter of rùn."

Snow looked at him cautiously. "Yes, that is what his tests this morning determined."

Darion seemed to mull this over, and they walked in silence for several minutes, passing the tree line and entering the forest.

"Why do you ask?" Snow prodded.

Darion stopped walking and turned to face her. "I believe last night you asked why I remain here despite the –" Here he paused as if searching for the right words to use.

"difficulty?" Snow suggested.

"That is an accurate way to describe it, yes. Despite the difficulty between Navormal and I."

"And?" Snow prompted after the breath he took turned into a lengthy pause.

"I have," he said very slowly, "a direct and – intense – experience with rùn. More so than most, though I do not pretend to understand its workings."

Snow blinked in surprise at the sudden revelation. Then she felt her stomach turn to ice at the implied meaning he gave. "Did Navormal, does he have . . ." She couldn't finish the thought aloud, even as the horrified whisper the first half of it was.

Darion looked at her in surprise. "Oh, no. Navormal? Not at all."

He turned and abruptly resumed walking. "King Oberon does."


	50. Darion

Snow started after him. Fey were notoriously mysterious, the only thing anyone could agree upon was that you were better off as far away from them as possible. She had no idea who this Oberon was, but judging by his title and the way Darion said his name, she had the awful feeling that not knowing might be deadly.

But Darion was still stalking deeper into the forest without any signs of stopping or speaking. Even more unfortunately, all the questions swirling around her head were not the kind that she could ask. "What does the king of the fae have on you?" "Why does the king of the fae have something on you?" "How do you even bind a fae?" and "Could you tell me more about this monarch you clearly hate and his role?" were the kind of questions that got you glares and evasions when you weren't talking to a fae who looked approximately three seconds from stabbing something. She was pretty sure she had never stumbled upon a sorer subject in her entire life – including every interaction she had ever had with her stepmother all rolled up into one.

She followed him through the forest for many long minutes trying desperately to think of a question that would get her more information without getting stabbed, until she realized that Darion didn't bring it up for no reason. He was going to tell her more – or at least, something important. She just had to wait for him to be ready. It was strange, realizing that for once she didn't have to pry the information out, he would simply give it to her. It got much easier to wait. They continued to move through the woods for nearly twenty minutes, when suddenly the entered a small clearing in the trees, less than thirty paces across. The moon was now waning, and it lit the small glade with a silver wash. He stopped about ten paces into it, and looked up at the moon.

Snow realized that she had not really seen him before. Despite the brief moments she had glanced at him during the day, and the one brief conversation she had with him yesterday, she hadn't really looked. Or perhaps, there was simply more to see of him now, late at night, in the woods and under the moon. The power she felt at dinner she could now see – though she could not say exactly what she was seeing. Nonetheless she was sure, just as sure as she had been in the garden, watching plants brighten under Blidarmd's attention.

Snow stood behind him. Waiting patiently to begin.

"What has Whitaran told you about fae?" Darion's voice was quiet, but even and flat.

"He said," Snow eyed him warily, remembering Whitaran warning from last night, "That fae are beings of Ionad, that you are defined by where you are, and where things are around you."

"That is true." He paused. The wind ruffled the leaves around them. "Did he tell you what the most important where is?"

"No. I can't say that he did."

He turned to look at her. "Light, or dark. Day -" He stopped.

". . . or night." Snow finished quietly. "you were born at night."

Darion only looked at her, but that was answer enough. "You're Unseelie."

"UN-seelie." Darion snarled. "Without light. As if light were inherently better or desirable in some way." He looked furious.

Snow resisted the urge to apologize. No matter how bad she felt it wasn't her fault, and implying it was would be a bad idea. Instead, she offered, "That was what Navormal said."

Darion seemed to deflate. In mere moments, all the anger slipped away, leaving a wry bitterness. "And Navormal is an exemplar of his kind. What else would you expect?"

Snow had no reply.

"I think," Darion said quietly, "It is about time someone told you what it means to be fae."


	51. Oberon

"I think, once, a long time ago, we did not need monarchs." They were sitting across from each other on the grass. The dark night made the grass gray and colorless, and the silver moon made sharp shadows.

"That is not true anymore. Binding magic is woven into our very nature – we have to have someone to call ruler and leader." Darion's gaze was intense and focused, but was not looking at Snow, staring off over her shoulder.

"Every fae has an oathstone – a physical manifestation of their loyalty. Most have never seen theirs, as they are kept by the monarch who commands their loyalty."

"Where do they come from if you do not make them?" Snow asked softly.

Darion blinked – clearly caught off guard. "I'm . . . Not sure." He said finally, "I've never really had to worry about it . . ."

There was a brief pause as Darion seemed to mull over this realization. Then he continued, "All those of the Seelie court are held by King Oberon. All those of the Dubharach court are held by Queen Mab." He stopped, and for several moments all that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves.

"Except for yours." Snow murmured.

Darion looked down at his hands. "Yes. Queen Mab lost a bet, and payed King Oberon with my oathstone." He stopped again, and Snow could think of no appropriate response. "He sent me here. Under Navormal's command."

A pit seemed to open up in her stomach as Snow tried to come to terms with such a horrifying revelation. "What about – your friends, family –"

He looked at her with the most pained and twisted smile she had ever seen. "There is no love lost between Seelie and Dubharach. Queen Mab and King Oberon are at an armed truce. Neither quite dares to officially opose the other – but constant friction is expected. And, well, fae aren't exactly known for being kind, and King Oberon has a reputation – even among the Seelie."

Once again, Snow found herself without words. All words of comfort she could think of seemed cheap and worthless – so she merely let the silence sit. It seemed the most respectful way to acknowledge his words.

Finally, she asked "What is it you do, then? Why here?"

Darion shook his head slightly, and rose to his feet, offering her a hand. "Navormal runs the largest Seelie settlement this part of the continent – placed here precisely because the largest Dubharach settlement is only a few miles down the river. As for what I do, well, come find out."

Snow took it and allowed him to lead her deeper into the woods.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note - about Oberon:** G_ _oing into this chapter, I had a general idea of what I wanted for the character of Oberon and the general way the whole fae monarchy/fealty works. So I did some research, and decided on the name Oberon – mainly for being instantly recognizable as the fairy king. Since I like me some historical accuracy and mythical elements I then did some research on some of the early myths about Oberon, and the character in Shakespeare's play, and a few other notable examples of fae. It was very enjoyable, but I decided that though the general flavor was on par with what I was thinking of, nothing specific really fit. In other words, King Oberon in this fic has nothing to do with any of the other mentions of Oberon you have heard, except that he is king of the (light) faries, and is not a nice dude. That said, when I conceptualized his character, I had just read a great NCIS AU, which greatly influenced my idea of him – as well as some of the interactions with fey earlier in the story. It's a great read, even if you are not particularly familiar with NCIS. Relevant chapters are 2, 9, and 10. Especially the last half of 10. s/12579995/1/The-Law-of-the-Jungle_


	52. The Errand

Snow was hopelessly lost. The trees looked the same in every direction, and even the moon was no help as she was so turned around that she had no idea what direction it was supposed to be in. Fortunately, Darion seemed to be quite sure of his destination.

He seemed to glide through the forest, as if the ground itself moved him forward and the trees and bushes moved out of his way. Snow matched his speed, though was not quite able to match the grace or silence with which he moved, though she was both.

Without warning, the forest faded to allow a well worn path through it, resuming with the same sort of gradualness on the other side. Darion turned abruptly and seemed to slide up a nearby tree, in a manner that seemed to mock the laws of gravity. Snow had never climbed a tree before, but gave her best effort, and ended up a good six yards above the ground after a suitable amount of catching her hair on branches, getting tangled in her skirt, and wobbling precariously on a skinny branch. She did make it to Darion without mishap though, through intense concentration and firm determination. She was not going to hold him back.

When she managed to settle herself beside him, he cocked his head and gestured in a direction. Snow listened carefully. After a moment, she heard it, the slow steady gait of a horse down a packed dirt road.

Darion leaned back against the tree trunk and seemed to pull shadows around him. Snow realized that her bright green dress might as well be a beacon, and was just beginning to try to determine if she had time to slip around the back of the tree, when Darion stopped her. He seemed to weave a web of shadows and mist between his fingers for a moment, and then cast it over her, as a fisherman casts a net. It settled onto her and wrapped around her, sinking into her dress and darkening it quickly until it looked black in the night. Snow tucked her pale arms in her skirt and pushed up against the trunk of the tree, and just in time too.

A light seemed to flare into existence from around the bend, startlingly bright in the darkness she had become accustomed to. Snow closed her eyes, and the light became muted, filtered through her eyelids, and no longer painful. Slowly she opened them again, squinting against the light as her eyes gradually adjusted, and saw the horse that had finally rounded the bend.

It was a sturdy looking workhorse, pulling a cart filled with packages and manned by a wary looking driver. Aside from the packages, the cart also held two men, both of whom wore armor, and carried swords. Suddenly, Snow began to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.


	53. Dark Fire

Snow felt Darion's breath on her ear as he leaned over and whispered "No matter what, stay in the tree." She turned to look at him, but couldn't see him beside her. She squinted at where she thought he ought to be in mild confusion – surely no-one, fae or otherwise, could blend into the night so perfectly.

She turned in surprise when she heard his voice from the road.

"What brings you so deep into the wood, so late at night, weary traveler?" It was clearly Darion speaking, but his voice sounded different. It was deeper than she thought his voice normally was, and far richer. It seemed like a symphony of voices, all on the same pitch, but vibrating with different timbre and tone. It moved purposefully, from pitch to pitch and note to note with the deliberate separation of a harpsichord and smoothness of a violin, it cut through the night sounds like a trumpet, yet somehow seemed softer than the quietest of bells. Snow had never heard anything like it.

Apparently, neither had the travelers. They all appeared arrested, caught in the echo of his words as they looked off under the trees further down the road than the tree Snow was perched in, presumably where Darion stood. Even the horse pulling the cart had stopped, unbidden.

After a moment of silence, Darion continued, "After all, such an activity can be dangerous to the unprepared." Once again, his voice was hypnotically beautiful, and it took Snow several beats after he had finished speaking to realize the threat he had implied.

The bad feeling she had gained earlier worsened, and she shifted positions and strained toward where the people were staring trying to get a glimpse of Darion. She felt that she would better understand his purpose if she could only see him. As she did so, she vaguely noticed that the people on the road were responding, but then she finally caught sight of him, and all her thoughts of the people fled.

Darion was burning. There was no other way to describe it, though it was unlike any other fire she had seen. Darkness had wrapped itself around him like a cloak, deep purples and blues and greys seemed to climb and swirl about him, glancing off his hair, vest and eyes, which seemed to have deepened into endless pools of darkness.

He wore his dark power like a crown and seemed to rest almost casually against the trunk of the tree. Almost casually. The wide smile that looked welcoming at first glance was purely predatory and visibly straining against the mockery it held back.

At the sight, Snow nearly fell out of the tree in shock. She had never imagined such a cruel smile on Darion's face, and it looked and felt wrong. Fake. A lie. Except that fae could not tell lies.

The sound of steel being drawn drew Snow's attention back toward the travelers just in time for her to catch the last few words they said. She had lost track of the conversation, though she was pretty sure they had exchanged a few sentences. Despite her lapse in concentration, what she heard was enough alone to make her wish she were back at the house.

"-ing Fae can't keep your shiny swords in your sheaths around our people and our roads, we'd be happy to make you." The guard who had spoken was advancing toward Darion, sword drawn, and his partner a few steps behind him. The man leading the cart was rummaging around in his sack.

Darion was laughing.


	54. First Death

_**Author's Note:** As you can probably guess by the title - there is a death in this chapter. If you recall, the summary of this story emphasises that this is a tragedy, and not a nice story. This chapter is where it really starts. There is explicit violence, death, and even more morality issues in this chapter. I plan to steer clear of sexual issues and keep the gore to a minimum, but this story is about a vampire, and it is only going to get darker. I don't want to scare anyone off, I still want this story to be enjoyable, but want to give you one last warning that we are headed into the woods, and its only going to get more dangerous and morally difficult from here. _

_Assuming, that is, I actually manage to put down in words what I'm imagining in my head._

* * *

The man rummaging about the carriage finally found what he was looking for and rose to his feet. He was holding a gun, that looked similar to the flintlock muskets her father's guards used, though it lacked the clean shine Snow associated with them. He held the gun confidentially and extended it toward Darion, just as the swordsman were closing.

Darion fell back into the shadow. Abruptly, his laughter was cut off. For one stretched moment that seemed to twang and pull her nerves, everyone was frozen in surprise. In contrast, the next few moments seemed to pass so quickly they blurred together.

Darion reappeared from the shadows beside the cart cast by the lantern.

In two steps he reached the man standing with the gun, who noticed he was there.

Darion smoothly slid a knife between his ribs – Snow saw it glint in the light.

Darion neatly plucked the gun out of his hand, as the driver fell.

The gun fired.

One of the swordsman fell.

The shot finished echoing in Snows ears, and she was left staring at Darion in shock and horror. How – what – why – nothing made sense. She could not comprehend what she had just seen. She could not connect Darion with those actions. The additional fact that she could see him smirking - standing over the man he had just stabbed – was merely another facet in her confusion.

The remaining swordsman was not confused. He turned and ran. He did not look back. Darion chuckled.

Snow slipped down the tree recklessly quickly, and landed a bit harder than she had intended. She pulled herself to her feet and looked up in time to watch Darion pull the knife out of the man at his feet. It dripped red. Snow stopped, shocked by her sudden reaction to it.

Darion looked up toward her, evidently having heard her hit the ground. It felt like he was looking into her.

Snow looked away, and deliberately began walking toward him, thinking about anything but the bleeding man Darion was crouching over, and looking straight ahead. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look.

The bleeding man had evidentially made a grab for the dagger Darion had been holding while he was looking at her. Snow watched as Darion knocked his wrist away, and without any ceremony, slid the second knife which had somehow appeared in his hand, up into his throat.

Snow watched with shocked eyes as his hands flared and pushed against Darion, despite knowing that it was too little, too late. Snow didn't even realize that she had been hearing his heart beat, until it suddenly stopped.

The night seemed too quiet, and Snow suddenly felt cold.

Darion looked up at her again. He looked solemn. It was a sharp contrast to the laughter he had given earlier. It did not make her feel better. His eyes flicked back down the road toward where the man he had shot was lying.

Snow suddenly realized that he was still alive. She could still hear his heartbeat.


	55. Purpose

Darion vaulted over the edges of the cart and stalked toward the shot man. Snow lunged forward and caught his shoulder as he walked past. It jerked him around to face her, and the words Snow had been intending to say died in her throat.

For a moment they stood there, nose to nose and eyes to eyes. Abruptly Darion stepped back and slipped out from under the hand Snow was holding him with.

"What. Do you have something to say?" His voice had finally regained its original sound, but his face looked utterly flat and emotionless. It was not an improvement.

Snow said slowly, cautiously, "Surely, you only need to kill one."

Darion tilted his head and replied, just as slowly, "you don't mind I killed him?" He gestured back toward the cart with the still bloody knife he was holding.

Snow paused. She did mind. But . . . "I am, reserving judgement." She said finally, "Until I have more information. I don't suppose you could provide some?"

Darion glanced over to where the injured man was lying on the road, and then back to her. "It is so much easier to get the dubharach and the humans to fight each other, than it is to defend against both."

Snow blinked, as it clicked into place. All the showy magic and mannerism wasn't Darion, it was an act, an act to cause conflict between the humans and the dubharach.

"You can't let him go." Snow realized. "To get the humans truly enraged, you have to be ruthless, and cruel, and –" Snow paused as the impact of what she was saying hit her, "In-human."

Darion nodded quietly, then with a very soft expression, said, "That doesn't sound familiar at all."

Snow blinked as she made the connection. Did Darion think she wasn't – human? As soon as she had the thought, she was angry. She wasn't human, but she was trying to be! That's what all the magic and the fuss had been about with her dear stepmother. She was about to make an angry retort, when Darion continued.

"Perhaps you would like to do the honors? I imagine it has been some time . . ." He gestured once more toward the man lying on the ground, slowly bleeding out.

Snow stopped. As much as she was still angry, as much as she wanted to refuse and stomp back into the forest by herself, she couldn't. Because he was right. She needed blood, and this was a solution that would not impose upon the hosts who willingly took her in.

She stalked angrily past him and dropped to her knees beside the dying man. The scent of his blood was much stronger here, but for a moment she looked into his eyes. It was a mistake. He looked afraid.

Snow was still angry. She was afraid of what she had seen Darion do. She was cold, and lonely, and nothing made sense anymore. And she felt so guilty. But she was so, so thirsty. She leaned over this man, dying in the middle of the road by sheer bad luck, and did not stop until there was not a single drop of blood left in his veins.

As she followed Darion back into the trees, the voice that anger had drowned out earlier resurfaced, whispering, "You aren't human. If anyone else needed to drink another's blood, they would be horrified. But you aren't. And you never really gave your stepmother your most earnest efforts, did you? How much do you really want to be human?"

Snow had no answer for herself.


	56. Dark Sight

Darion had taken her back to the edge of the tree line in sight of the house. He had politely wished her goodnight, and then vanished back into the woods without another word from either of them.

Snow was not ready to sleep. She was restless, and her mind was keyed up and buzzing with thoughts. She did try, obediently tip-toing up the stairs and past her sleeping hosts, but when she opened her door and looked into her room, she couldn't bring herself to step inside. It was too still and tight.

She turned around and walked back down the hall, leaving her door open behind her. She wandered through the house aimlessly, unable to sit still as her brain critically picked itself apart, re-envisioning, over and over, what had happened that night. What had been done. Why it had been done. How it had affected her. Why it had affected her that way. What would have been a better way. Is there a better way, really.

Around and around in circles her thoughts traveled, as she herself covered every square foot of the ground floor. Neither her thoughts nor her feet took her anywhere.

Finally, she forced her feet and thoughts to a stop. She wasn't getting anywhere. She knew she wasn't getting anywhere. She really should go to bed. But she still didn't want to. As she was standing there, stopped smack in the middle of a long hallway, it occurred to her just how quiet the house was. How alone she was.

And then she got an idea. Since she couldn't sleep, she might as well take advantage of the opportunity. She turned and strode of purposefully toward the basement. Maybe whatever was down there was more energetic at night. It was certainly worth a shot.

It was even darker at the bottom of the basement stairs at night than it was during the day. In fact, Snow was pretty sure it was the darkest place she had ever been. The moon and stars were well and truly hidden by the building above and around. There was no candle or lantern lit anywhere – let alone a fireplace. After Snow lowered the door closed save for the tiniest crack - not a single particle of light was present.

Yet, and this was strange, Snow could still see. Or, sort of. It wasn't really like regular seeing, but her brain could think of no other way to interpret it. It was a bit like the sketches the portrait painters would do before beginning the actual piece. She could see the shape and form of the stairwell. She could see the way the stairs led away and down.

But none of it looked quite real. Like charcoal on canvas, she felt like if she reached out she would be able to smear it into another shape, or if she dabbed it with a piece of rubber it would lighten, and then lift off the world entirely to leave mere empty canvas, still ripe with possibilities.

She slid her hand along the wall all the way down – she knew it was real. She did. But the little extra proof was comforting.


	57. Voices Behind the Door

_**Author's Note:**_ _I don't really have an excuse for not posting last week. I was just lazy. So here is an extra - long chapter to make up for it._

* * *

Halfway down the stair, she paused. Someone was talking. It was very, very quiet, so quiet that she hadn't noticed it until she had unconsciously begun to sneak in the darkness of the stairwell, and the sounds of her footsteps and breaths disappeared.

She didn't know who was talking. She didn't know what language they were speaking. She didn't know what they were saying, or where they were, but the murmur of people conversing is distinct, even when it is so quiet that Snow was unsure if she was actually hearing it, or if it was only in her imagination.

It didn't get louder. Whoever was speaking – assuming someone was – was not getting closer. Snow slowly continued down the stairs, and realized suddenly, that the voices were coming from behind the locked door. Nothing else could explain the gradual but noticeable rise in volume.

A beat later, and the impact of that conclusion hit her. If someone was talking behind the door, then there were people behind there. But if that was so, then it had been people when Snow had first listened at the door. These people could hold so perfectly still that not even their breaths made a sound, could hide the beat of their hearts, and did so at the slightest hint of company.

Snow slipped down the last few stairs, willing herself to be as light and graceful as a feather, willing her feet to make no sound.

It seemed to have worked, there was no pause in the murmur behind the door, but her approach boosted its volume enough that Snow was certain now that she was not imagining it.

She leaned back against the hard stones of the door, listening to the back and forth. Though she had already determined she could not speak the language, she thought she might be able to recognize it. Many dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms had visited the castle over the years, and though she never stayed in their presence for long – everyone preferred it that way – She felt like she had a reasonable feel for the rhythms of most of their languages.

Unfortunately, this one was evading her. Either she didn't know the languages as well as she had thought, or this was not a language she had ever heard.

After listening for a while longer, she decided it was the latter.

It was subtle, barely there, slipping into phrases without warning, and disappearing just as quickly, but there was something about the language they were using that felt; Old. Deep. Powerful. Not old the way that a crumbling shack is, but old the way a great, strong gnarled oak is old. Deep not like a well in the desert that provides lifegiving water, but deep like the ocean is, cold and uncaring. Powerful not like a king which power is granted by those who follow him, but powerful like poetry or magic is powerful – words alone that bend men and nature to their will.

It was both alluring and frightening at once. Who could these people be? Where were they from? And what were they doing here? On second thought, she wasn't sure she wanted to know what they were doing here.

But she still wanted to talk to them. If only they would talk to her. How to convince them?

Maybe if she learned their language that would help? Of course, she didn't have a translator. But she knew that most of conversation was repetitive – the same words, phrases, and ideas mashed up into different orders. If she could just listen for repetitions, she might get somewhere.

She didn't get anywhere. The whole endeavor was turning out to be far more difficult than she thought it would be. After quite a lot of concentrated effort, she still hadn't caught anything.

Like all conversations do, the one behind the door paused. Without really processing the idea, Snow repeated aloud – though very softly – the phrase that had just been said.

Or at least – Snow assumed it was a phrase. She just copied the sounds.

The conversation did not resume. In fact, the silence seemed deafening after the near constant whispers ceased.

Snow was already regretting her decision, but she was committed now, so she tried again, repeating the meaningless syllables as accurately as she could.

Still nothing. "What does it mean?" She tried to sound calm, mildly interested, and completely unthreatening. More silence.

After several moments more of listening to the kind of silence that presses on the eardrums, Snow decided she wasn't going to get anywhere, and if she was making these kinds of decisions, it was time to go to bed.

Annoyed, though more with herself than the people behind the door, she did just that.


	58. The Nature of Life

_**Author's Note:**_ _So, I actually had to do a bit of research for this chapter about how candles were lit before matches, and evidentially the answer is a taper, which as I understand it, is basically a glorified stick that you light in the cooking fire and then can use to light all your candles. So, now you know, and so do I. Go figure._

* * *

Morning came annoyingly quickly. Snow wasn't sure exactly when she had finally went to bed last night, but she was beginning to understand why Darion never showed up during the day. She was tired.

Nonetheless, she splashed water on her face and picked the brightest dress in the wardrobe (yellow) in an attempt to wake herself up, and went downstairs. The sun was very bright. It made her want to crawl back into bed. However, after breakfast she did feel a bit more awake – though still not particularly happy about it.

Grenarin beckoned to her with one hand, he was holding a lit taper in the other. Snow followed him to the room they had been in yesterday. He was sitting on the floor beside the largest candlestick Snow had ever seen, and that was saying something. The base was at least a foot tall, and the combination of candle and base were significantly taller than Grenarin sitting beside it. Additionally, it was wide enough that snow was pretty sure if she wrapped her hands around it she wouldn't be able to connect them.

"I thought you said you wouldn't receive the book until this afternoon at the earliest." Snow noted curiously as she sat down beside Grenarin.

"We won't," Grenarin replied, "However, it occurred to me that there was something I wanted to try – even without knowing anything more."

He lit the candle with the taper and then blew it out and set it aside.

"Because Rùn is, by definition, intent and desire, it seems reasonable that just by focusing your intent you can influence other living beings."

"Alright . . ." Snow said slowly, both unsure if she really wanted to explore that part of her, as it reminded her rather unpleasantly of her stepmother, and what that had to do with the candle.

"But, frankly, most living beings are pretty stubborn. Trying to move an animals will completely inexperienced might be frustrating, not to mention dangerous. So instead, we will try it with fire first." He gestured cheerfully at the candle.

Snow blinked, "Um. I thought you said that I might be able to control living things."

Grenarin nodded.

"Uh, last I checked, fire isn't alive."

Grenarin, paused, clearly taken by surprise. "When was the last time you checked?"

". . . its . . . a figure of speech . . ."

Grenarin smiled. "Well, I have checked. While I wouldn't say that fire is alive in the conventional sense, I can't say it's not alive either. Look at it, really look."

Snow looked. It didn't appear any different.

"Water will run downhill or fall from the sky. Rocks will be carried through streams or roll down hills. But fire moves on its own. It climbs up mountains, moves through cities, and crosses rivers. Rocks can only be broken, water can only spread itself ever thinner, until it disappears entirely. But fire grows and grows and never stops. It dances, and laughs, and changes in ways that dead things never can. You can deny it's life, if you wish, but you cannot say that it is dead."

Snow watched the candle. As Grenarin talked, the more she could almost believe that it had life. It seemed to move with his words, as if it were listening to him. Snow wasn't sure she believed him. But she almost did.


	59. Arguing with a Candle

"So, I just concentrate?" Snow asked.

"Concentrating would be good." Grenarin replied, "But it is more important that you WANT it to move. Concentrate on wanting."

Alright then. Snow looked at the flame. She imagined it bending over, just a little bit. She tried to imagine it happening. She glared, purposefully getting angry that it was not doing what she wanted. She focused really, really hard on wanting it.

Nothing happened.

She must not have wanted it enough. How could she make herself want it more? Without really stopping to process whether it was a good idea or not, she reached out with her hand and rested it in the flame – surely that would provide ample desire.

"OH!" Snow jerked her hand back, now sporting a unhappy read splotch, and felt her cheeks color in embarrassment as she realized what she had just impulsively done. "That wasn't very smart."

"It worked though." Grenarin said thoughtfully.

"What?" Snow said, "I didn't see anything."

"Then you weren't looking." Grenarin replied with a smile, "As soon as your hand entered the flame, it sprang up higher."

"That's not magic!" Snow protested, "That always happens when . . ." She stopped, and a realization hit her like lighting out of the blue. She had been thinking about this all wrong. Fire grew. That is what it did. She had been trying to out-stubborn it, push it into doing something it didn't want to do. But if this experiment was based on the idea of it being alive, then that wasn't going to work. She needed the fire to think that it wanted to do what she wanted it to do. She needed to convince it.

New plan. She put her hand (the unburned one) next to the flame, exactly where she had wanted it to bend. But instead of trying to pull the existing flame toward it, she willed it to grow. Right here. She imagined her determination, and desire making a bridge from her to the candle and drawing it towards her, like a benevolent father giving a gift to his son. Her determination was a promise, and that made all the difference.

The small flame on the candle plumed out sideways toward her hand, like a bubble from a smooth surface, impossibly graceful and surreal in its slowness, like a flower opening its petals. It was fascinating, and Snow was so focused on its progress, that she only realized it was threatening to envelop her hand, moments after it had done so.

She jerked back in shock, and the candle flickered back to its former appearance. Grenarin was staring at her, equally surprised, and Snow stared at her hand – completely unharmed.


	60. The Next Step

"I did it." Snow felt a little shell-shocked. I mean, it had taken some effort, but Grenarin had implied that it would be very difficult.

"Yes." Grenarin agreed. He looked concerned. "Yes, you did. Very quickly. Are you sure you have no previous experience with magic?"

"Not with working it."

Grenarin hummed softly in thought. "I see. That went far more quickly than I thought. I think perhaps we are ready to try this on a creature?" His tone was cautious, as if he weren't sure how she would react.

"Oh. Okay. That was fast."

Grenarin blew out the candle – Snow could barely see that any of it had been melted – and left the room. "It most certainly was."

Grenarin strode across the lawn. Snow wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. Surely if he wanted to catch a mouse or something he should slow down and look at the ground? But he didn't slow, and instead marched directly out into the forest. After a few minutes of walking straight forward, he paused, and turned toward Snow.

He spoke very softly, "There is a group of deer up ahead. We probably need to get a bit closer for you to affect them, and for that we need to be very quiet. That dress stands out dramatically, this should help." he stopped and smoothly wove light and magic between his hands, and then gently spread and wrapped it around her, it settled around her dress like a light coat, deepening her dress as it took on the general hue of the surroundings, seeming to take on shifting shades of green and brown, dancing across her dress like the sun filtering through the trees. It was enchantingly beautiful.

Grenarin continued, at an angle to his previous path, and this time without even the sound of a footfall. Snow followed him, trying to replicate the stillness and quiet he exuded. She had a feeling it wasn't really working, but at least managed not to break any branches.

After perhaps another minute of walking, the promised deer came into view, and Grenarin seemed to slide sideways behind a large bush, ducking down out of sight. Snow followed, considerably less gracefully, but without any major mishaps.

Snow looked questioningly at Grenarin. In response, he raised his eyebrows and gestured expectantly at the deer.


	61. Deer Whisperer

_**Author's Note:** Fun fact: When I first brainstormed this idea, I figured I could tell it in around 60 chapters. We are now officially longer than that, and still at least 20 (probably a lot more) chapters from the beginning of the climax. Oops. _

* * *

Alright then. Snow looked at the deer and thought. What did deer do? What did they want? . . . Did deer eat fruit? Snow thought so.

Okay. Snow imagined the most delicious apple possible. It was a deep red and perfectly smooth. It was huge, the size of her fist. She imagined how crunchy and sweet it would be. She imagined it in her hand, her fingers wrapping around it. Slowly, concentrating on holding the image of the apple in her mind, Snow reached out and touched the deer, leading its attention toward the apple in her hand that existed only in her mind, and now, through her bridge of focus, in the mind of the deer.

The deer visibly perked up, but didn't move. After a long stretched out moment in which it did nothing else, Snow became too frustrated to maintain focus, and dropped the connection. She turned toward Grenarin to vent, but at his mild curious expression directed away from her, Snow turned to look at what he was looking at. It was the deer she had been trying to affect. It was still looking around alertly, and sniffing at the wind.

None of the other deer were doing that. What could it be looking for? A moment later it hit her, and Snow felt like an idiot. She had "told" the deer that she had an apple, but the deer had no idea where she was. This time she paused before acting to check if it was actually a good idea – and then slowly slid out from behind the bush into full view of the deer, though being sure to hide her left hand behind her back. Immediately upon her appearance the deer turned to face her – visibly tensing – and then bounded quickly away and vanished into the undergrowth. All except the deer she had been "talking" to earlier, which stood there – still visibly tense – but with a cautious kind of curiosity.

As it became clear the deer did not intend to come any closer Snow began re-crafting the idea of the apple in her mind – the same plump roundness, deep red and crisp sweetness, but adding a sweet smell as well, located in her hidden left hand. Once more, she reached out and touched the deer's mind, guiding it once again to the imagined apple that was in her left hand.

For one long moment nothing happened, and Snow could feel her frustration growing, when finally, the deer took a single step forward. Snow held very, very still. Another moment passed, and the deer took another step. The distracting frustration from earlier had been replaced by equally distracting excitement, and Snow tried to push it aside and focus only on the link between the deer and the impossibly delicious, tempting, red apple in her hand.

The deer took another several steps all at once, closing the distance between them to only a few yards. When that produced no response, the deer took another two – so that it was only a yard from Snow, and suddenly it was all too exciting, and Snow felt her focus break.

The deer tensed again, and when Snow unthinkingly and instinctively reached out to soothe it, it bolted, vanishing into the trees in moments, and leaving Snow standing alone and feeling very disappointed.


End file.
